Edited by Jim McCrory, Wednesday 27 August 2025 at 19:35
The Eternal Whisper That All is Well
The consultant stared at me across the desk and asked, almost hesitantly, “Are you getting this?” He had just told me that cancer had taken root in three of my organs. Perhaps he expected me to collapse under the weight of the words. But I did not.
I answered him with something that seemed to rise from a place deeper than myself: “There’s a young man inside me. My body is old and decaying, yes—but the young man is alive and full of life.”
Call him the soul, the psyche, or whatever name feels fitting. To me he is the undeniable core of who I am, and he convinces me, even in this hour, that there is eternal life for those deemed worthy. The young man inside me leans on that promise. He whispers that decay is only skin-deep, only temporary. He reminds me that the soul does not crumble with the body.
And yet, with this promise comes another reality, one expressed in a word borrowed from another tongue. The Portuguese speak of saudade, a deep longing for something absent. But they also have a quieter cousin of the word—saudoso—less spoken of, more haunting. It carries the awareness that what we long for may never return. An ache built into the very sound of the word.
I feel both. I live with saudade for the strength and vigour of my younger years, for the smooth-running body that once carried me easily across mountains and seas. But I also live with saudoso—the haunting knowledge that these things may not return in this life. It is an existential ache; the human condition distilled in language.
And yet, the young man inside me insists there is more. That one day the ache will be stilled. That life, eternal and unspoiled, will rise where now only frailty remains.
Christ’s words echo in me: “Do not be amazed at this, for a time is coming when all who are in their graves will hear his voice and come out” (John 5:28–29).
The Eternal Whisper That All is Well
The Eternal Whisper That All is Well
The consultant stared at me across the desk and asked, almost hesitantly, “Are you getting this?” He had just told me that cancer had taken root in three of my organs. Perhaps he expected me to collapse under the weight of the words. But I did not.
I answered him with something that seemed to rise from a place deeper than myself: “There’s a young man inside me. My body is old and decaying, yes—but the young man is alive and full of life.”
Call him the soul, the psyche, or whatever name feels fitting. To me he is the undeniable core of who I am, and he convinces me, even in this hour, that there is eternal life for those deemed worthy. The young man inside me leans on that promise. He whispers that decay is only skin-deep, only temporary. He reminds me that the soul does not crumble with the body.
And yet, with this promise comes another reality, one expressed in a word borrowed from another tongue. The Portuguese speak of saudade, a deep longing for something absent. But they also have a quieter cousin of the word—saudoso—less spoken of, more haunting. It carries the awareness that what we long for may never return. An ache built into the very sound of the word.
I feel both. I live with saudade for the strength and vigour of my younger years, for the smooth-running body that once carried me easily across mountains and seas. But I also live with saudoso—the haunting knowledge that these things may not return in this life. It is an existential ache; the human condition distilled in language.
And yet, the young man inside me insists there is more. That one day the ache will be stilled. That life, eternal and unspoiled, will rise where now only frailty remains.
Christ’s words echo in me: “Do not be amazed at this, for a time is coming when all who are in their graves will hear his voice and come out” (John 5:28–29).