My friend Ed Gulley often tells me I am his best friend, next to some of the Swiss cows that is. I think the truth is that his wife Carol is his best friend, but we are close, we often refer to our friendship  as being brothers from different mothers. That feels close to me.

I have had very few best friends in my life, and neither has Ed, so this experience is new to both of us, and sometimes difficult for me. It’s an odd thing about Ed, we are so very much alike, and yet so very different. Ed is in trouble now, he is driving across South Dakota heading towards the Badlands, which he very much wants to see.

He is struggling with terminal brain cancer, Carol writes on their blog,  the Bejosh Farm Journal, in a post called “Tough Day,” that Ed is getting weaker on his left side, especially his hand, arms and legs, his peripheral vision is also fading on that side. That is a primary symptom of his brain cancer.

If you know Carol and Ed, two tough and battle-hardened dairy farmers, you know that “tough day” for them means something a lot harder for someone like me or most people. It means real trouble. It is a kind of scream.

I supposed this ought not to be surprising to anyone, I sat down with Carol and Ed – after talking with specialists who treat this disease – and told them of the pitfalls and challenges of the trip to the Badlands of South Dakota. They took it all in, and didn’t blink, and I told myself, okay this is the right thing, they really want to go and need to go.

The doctors say Ed has 10 tumors moving through his brain, and they are far from home.

Carol says Ed is struggling to sleep and she describes him as being “scared and apprehensive.” She says she is determined to get him where he wants to go on this, possibly his last trip. He wants to get to the Badlands, he told me before he left that he feels the spirits are calling him there and waiting for  him.

Before he left hurriedly on the trip last Monday, we talked almost every day and were getting into the habit of going to lunch, we talked and talked about life and it’s meaning and the difficult challenges he is facing now.

I have not talked to Ed since he left on this trip, not once. And one thing I know about Ed. If he isn’t talking, he really doesn’t feel like it. Like me, Ed is a talker.

I know that he is not looking to talk to me now, that is his right and privilege, and it isn’t something he needs now.  I don’t question it. He is going somewhere I can’t go and he doesn’t want me to go. In a sense, I understand Ed is already saying goodbye to me.

Lots of people are talking to Ed on the trip, in e-mail and messages. I don’t need to be one of them. He knows where I am. Carol and I have been texting back and forth several times a day.

But I admit that I am in what is a painful and difficult position for me.

I am good at many things, but doing nothing is not one of them.

I reject drama and posturing, this is not my sickness, and I don’t wish to take one iota of it away from Ed and Carol.

It is theirs. In my mind, I suppose there is the fantasy of the dutiful friend, helping out, present and strong. But for me now, I think this means a different narrative.

I am worried about them out there, of course, and am now challenged to reach inward to respect both life and death and bring my fragmented personality into a meaningful whole. This is the beauty of understanding the idea of boundary.

The work for me is to do nothing with grace and acceptance. In all of these kinds of situations, I have always been able to be helpful – bring a dog, fresh water, listen, tell stories, bring books or food. How can I be helpful now?

Carol’s posts suggest a turning point, a rapid advancement of the aggressive cancer Ed is facing.

I can feel the weariness and pain in her writing as well, she is a student in my writing workshop. I texted them to say I was holding Ed’s hand and walking with him, out there, and hugging him, and he passed on the message through Carol that this meant so much to him.

I know it is true, I could feel his string and calloused farmer’s hand in my soft and clean writer’s hand when I sent it.

For me, helplessness has always been a sign of the disconnected life, filled with countless different words, ideas, thoughts and impulses.

The inside of my head often feels like garbage swirling around in tepid waters. Helplessness, like boredom, so easily leads to depression, it is a constant temptation,  difficult for me to shake off.

And I have rarely felt so helpless.

I think of my brother lying awake at night, feeling the left half of his body begin to betray him, frightened and very much alone in the dark.

I only veered off course once today, partly because of that image, I reminded Carol via text that they can call their family practitioner and get a sedative to help Ed  stay calm, he could call it into a local pharmacy if it would help. i have gotten no answer, I know they are on the road, steaming purposefully towards the Badlands National Park, which Ed so badly wants to see.

I am sure they know what a sedative is.

Carol says there is talk of turning back towards home – I know they know this kind of cancer is fast-moving – but they want to try to make it all the way. Carol is utterly devoted to Ed, who she calls “My Farmer,” and she will get him where he wants to go, “one way or the other,” as she put it.

A part of me wants to urge them to head back, a part of me wants to cheer them on.

In either case, it’s not for me to  do either, not for me to say what they should do. They are not seeking my advice.

I am a Mature Adult now, a person of great faith. This is no drama or TV show.

A situation like this calls upon me to be wise and thoughtful, to draw upon what I have learned, it adds a new dimension to the basic realities of life. As a writer and a hospice volunteer, I saw much illness and death, but not coming from a close friend, let alone a brother.

There is always a gift in trouble, nothing challenges us more to find the spiritual part of ourselves.

This is what brings my fragmented self into a meaningful whole, it unifies my divided soul. It proves the source of inspiration for a restless and searching mind, the basis for a true friendship and understanding, for humility and trust, a powerful incentive for a never-ending renewal of life.

So Ed and I come towards another milestone in our own individual journey from Magic To Faith. I find myself, like Ed, in a constant dialogue with our surroundings. We bring ourselves together in a new kind of unity, not that of Magic, but that of Faith. I think he is finding his Faith. I think I am finding my Faith.

I am called  to do absolutely nothing, to pray and wait and watch, and to see the love in that. I am there. That is enough.

I can’t fix this, change this, solve this, nor is it mine to change or affect. No message of mine can help.

Nothing can be an intimate act of love, it can be the most help I can offer.

What I can do is perhaps the ultimate acts of friendship. Nothing. He knows what is in my heart.

I wish him and Carol peace and compassion on their quest.