I was there
I’m finally back in Wiesbaden around lunchtime. 90 minutes late. The reason was an acute phase of weakness in our Air Europa aircraft. Right before the start in Madrid, it suddenly suffered technical problems. In the afternoon, I make some final preparations in my home town before my round trip. In the showcase of a movie theater I see the current advertisement for the film Dune 2 and my thoughts are immediately far away…
…At the end of December 1985, I took the Greyhound bus from Cleveland Ohio to Madison, Wisconsin. In January and February 1986, I worked at the university hospital there as a medical student in the surgery department. Like my American fellow students, I was assigned a few patients. One of them was Frank Herbert, the author of the world-famous novel Dune. A work that has sold over 12 million copies. The last days before his death – he died of a pancreatic tumor – I saw him every day. I also met his third wife, Theresa Shackleford.
Frank Herbert sought orientation in Buddhism and strength in meditation. But I saw no hope at his bedside. The atmosphere in his room was oppressive. Where should the confidence come from? When death extinguishes our identity forever, all that remains is a wistful farewell. He died on February 11, 1986 at the age of 65. I was 40 years younger at the time and thought a lot about the afterlife. Three weeks later, I flew to Richmond to take 4 courses in internal medicine at the Medical College of Virginia. Over the past decades, I have always remembered Herbert. None of us knows when death will overtake us. But as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want to leave life like he did. Desolate, sad and without any prospects for the future.
And Jesus said: “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even if he dies!” /KDJ
