Constie’s Words of Wisdom
My good friend Andy introduced me to a very interesting intelligent man named Wayne
Constantineau who Andy called Constie. Although he liked to be introduced to new people as Wayne, I continued to call him Constie. The first night I met him, Andy had broken his ribs having been thrown off a horse. There was some great music playing and Constie and I started to dance. It became what Andy as sole witness to our dance jokingly called dirty dancing but it wasn’t that at all. Constie became alive when he danced, feeling the music, allowing his body to be lost in its oceanic rhythms. I was his playmate in the waves and as music also has the same freeing effect on me, we moved as one. The sexuality that Andy teased us about was really a sensuality for the music that we both understood.
From then on our friendship was a quiet caring respect for one another - a non-sexual connection through the body. Constie was not well even then having problems digesting an alarming number of foods and at what he thought was a hereditary kidney problem. Several months after I met him, Constie was diagnosed with an advanced cancer, which he was told would take him quickly. This was in February.
Andy told me he probably had less than a month left but that he was going to start writing a series of small books from his life work. He had good friends who were banding together to help him fulfill his dream to have them completed. He became totally emerged in the books and I didn’t see much of him over the winter. Andy would report to me in amazement how well he was doing, much to the surprise of the doctors, who three months later could not understand why he was still alive. Apparently, he rarely talked about the cancer and all his energy was on his books, which he was working on like a demon.
In May I think, I finally saw him and was saddened to see how a man who was already thin, could have lost so much weight. But he was in good spirits and tried with huge energy to explain to me what his books were about, which I am ashamed to say I never really understood.
From May onwards, Constie’s cancer had advanced to the point that he was unable to eat anything. His diet consisted of being able to drink Powerade and he had potassium through an IV drip. In July he was skeletal but still living at a friends home in Toronto and often visiting Andy in his Uxbridge home, for Constie loved Andy’s company and the country atmosphere. In August he even came to my farewell party, having gone to the trouble of finding me a beautiful walking stick for my Camino walk as a gift.
Just before I left in September I was sitting with him on Andy’s deck and I asked him if he knew what it was that was allowing him to defy all the doctor’s predictions. I guess I assumed he would tell me that the need to see his books completed, were the cause. As he rolled his cigarette, the only physical pleasure left to him, he told me there were four things that he believed were keeping him alive.
“First of all”, he said, “I never think about it.” I looked at him in disbelief. “Never?” I said. He explained that sometimes the pain would bring the thought to him, but he just dealt with the pain and didn’t dwell on the illness and it’s terminality.
“Then”, he said, “I never say, Poor Me. People who feel sorry for themselves and question why me, are dead ducks.”
“Also, I don’t fight it.” This made me curious. Many people I have read about with cancer, speak of their determination to fight it and conquer it.
“Tell me about that,” I said, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“When you fight something, you make the enemy stronger. The stronger you get, the stronger the enemy has to be to fight back. By denying the enemy the battle, you take away its power. For instance, if there weren’t Pro-Life groups, there wouldn’t be Pro-Choice groups, and vice versa.”
I understood intellectually through this example what he meant and knew that there was a profound wisdom in this that I needed to understand on a visceral level.
“And what is the fourth thing?’
“This is the most important one of all. I wake up each morning and just breathe.” With these words, he took a deep breath and his face lit up with joy.
Constie died peacefully surrounded by his family in late October. His words were constantly with me on the Camino.
My good friend Andy introduced me to a very interesting intelligent man named Wayne
Constantineau who Andy called Constie. Although he liked to be introduced to new people as Wayne, I continued to call him Constie. The first night I met him, Andy had broken his ribs having been thrown off a horse. There was some great music playing and Constie and I started to dance. It became what Andy as sole witness to our dance jokingly called dirty dancing but it wasn’t that at all. Constie became alive when he danced, feeling the music, allowing his body to be lost in its oceanic rhythms. I was his playmate in the waves and as music also has the same freeing effect on me, we moved as one. The sexuality that Andy teased us about was really a sensuality for the music that we both understood.
From then on our friendship was a quiet caring respect for one another - a non-sexual connection through the body. Constie was not well even then having problems digesting an alarming number of foods and at what he thought was a hereditary kidney problem. Several months after I met him, Constie was diagnosed with an advanced cancer, which he was told would take him quickly. This was in February.
Andy told me he probably had less than a month left but that he was going to start writing a series of small books from his life work. He had good friends who were banding together to help him fulfill his dream to have them completed. He became totally emerged in the books and I didn’t see much of him over the winter. Andy would report to me in amazement how well he was doing, much to the surprise of the doctors, who three months later could not understand why he was still alive. Apparently, he rarely talked about the cancer and all his energy was on his books, which he was working on like a demon.
In May I think, I finally saw him and was saddened to see how a man who was already thin, could have lost so much weight. But he was in good spirits and tried with huge energy to explain to me what his books were about, which I am ashamed to say I never really understood.
From May onwards, Constie’s cancer had advanced to the point that he was unable to eat anything. His diet consisted of being able to drink Powerade and he had potassium through an IV drip. In July he was skeletal but still living at a friends home in Toronto and often visiting Andy in his Uxbridge home, for Constie loved Andy’s company and the country atmosphere. In August he even came to my farewell party, having gone to the trouble of finding me a beautiful walking stick for my Camino walk as a gift.
Just before I left in September I was sitting with him on Andy’s deck and I asked him if he knew what it was that was allowing him to defy all the doctor’s predictions. I guess I assumed he would tell me that the need to see his books completed, were the cause. As he rolled his cigarette, the only physical pleasure left to him, he told me there were four things that he believed were keeping him alive.
“First of all”, he said, “I never think about it.” I looked at him in disbelief. “Never?” I said. He explained that sometimes the pain would bring the thought to him, but he just dealt with the pain and didn’t dwell on the illness and it’s terminality.
“Then”, he said, “I never say, Poor Me. People who feel sorry for themselves and question why me, are dead ducks.”
“Also, I don’t fight it.” This made me curious. Many people I have read about with cancer, speak of their determination to fight it and conquer it.
“Tell me about that,” I said, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“When you fight something, you make the enemy stronger. The stronger you get, the stronger the enemy has to be to fight back. By denying the enemy the battle, you take away its power. For instance, if there weren’t Pro-Life groups, there wouldn’t be Pro-Choice groups, and vice versa.”
I understood intellectually through this example what he meant and knew that there was a profound wisdom in this that I needed to understand on a visceral level.
“And what is the fourth thing?’
“This is the most important one of all. I wake up each morning and just breathe.” With these words, he took a deep breath and his face lit up with joy.
Constie died peacefully surrounded by his family in late October. His words were constantly with me on the Camino.