Bob's Last Words to Humanity
Bob’s Notes by Kirk Durston, 2026
Two sheets of light-blue notepad paper sit on my desk, given to me by my friend Bob a few weeks before he died.
From time to time, over the past year and a half, I pick these papers up, read again what he wrote, then lay them down on my desk once again. Each time I have the feeling I must do something with these words—but what? A few days ago, the sheets of paper sitting on my desk came to mind while I was on an evening flight half way across the continent. At some point midway through the flight, a clear answer announced itself in my mind: it was finally time to share Bob’s message to whoever will hear it … but first the backstory.
It was August 2007 when I first met Bob at a camp in northern Ontario. He found out that I enjoyed fishing and offered to take me out in his boat so that I could fish the shoreline. We fished all afternoon, but we talked even more. Some might have described Bob as a little “rough around the edges” as it were—a big man who looked like someone you might not want to meet alone on a dark street. He said what he thought and had a mind of his own. If you were not the person on the inside that you appeared to be on the outside, forget about getting much respect from him.
There is something wonderfully refreshing about a person who says what he thinks but, at the same time, is open about what he does not know, asking sincere questions on a wide range of subjects. What you see is what you get and I greatly valued our friendship. He was also a man who gave generously of his time and resources, and I was deeply touched many times by his generosity.
Bob lived on Manitoulin Island, which lies along the northern part of Lake Huron. It takes about six hours of driving to get around the east end of the lake, cross a single-lane swinging bridge onto the island, and then continue down to his place. Over the years that followed, I made many trips there to hunt and fish with Bob, but the real reason was to spend time with my friend. I smile when I think of his ice-fishing shack on Lake Manitou, complete with stove and comfortable chairs. In that shack out there on the ice, we spent hours discussing a full range of topics from philosophy to theology to science and politics, interrupted from time to time as one of us would haul up a Lake Trout from sixty feet below the ice.
About two years ago, Bob told me he was having pain in his lower back. I texted him one day in February to find out if things had improved. He responded, “I’m dying.”
The text didn’t make sense to me. Bob was not one to exaggerate, so I asked what he meant. He told me that they had just discovered that he had lung cancer, which had spread to his brain and the bones in his lower spine.
I suddenly felt a bit sick as I stared at that message. I made plans to take a few days off work and drive up to see my friend one last time. In the meantime, I asked Bob to keep a pad of paper close by and start writing down any wisdom or insights that he felt to be of the greatest importance to pass on to other people after he died.
We hear and read tens of thousands of things over the course of our life. In that vast noise of information and activities, it can be difficult to distinguish between the thousands of things that seem important but in the end are of little or no importance, from the few things that may be of enormous importance. The trivial often dominates our ambitions and thoughts and occupies almost all of our time. In the end, however, when death may only be weeks or days away, and one is peering through the curtain into eternity, many things that were once thought to be of the greatest importance are now seen as an utter waste of a life. Wouldn’t it be nice to find out what those in the final chapter of their life can clearly see from their perspective?
For this reason, I have come to greatly value the last words and wisdom of a thoughtful person who is on the brink of eternity, and that is why I made that request of Bob.
Several weeks later, I took some time off work and drove up there for a couple of days to see my good friend one last time. We had our final conversations, there were some tears, and we said our last goodbyes. Before I left, he handed me these two sheets of light-blue notepaper containing the thoughts he felt were of the greatest importance to pass on. I made that long drive home, already grieving, closely guarding my friend’s last words to humanity.
It was the last time I saw him alive and several weeks later my good friend slipped through the curtain into eternity. I drove up again to say a few words at his burial service.
I will now share with you what he wrote but my fear is that, with all the noise of activity and information in your life, you will not recognize its value until someday you find yourself close to death and realize that you may have squandered your life on things that seemed so important at the time while the things of greatest importance you may have had little or no interest in. Some of you will consider his words to be utter rubbish. Others will have heard words like these hundreds of times over the years, but have failed to realize just how enormously important they are amidst an ocean of trivial things.
Here is what he wrote …
At the age of 60, as a believer, I did not expect the news—stage four lung-bone cancer—inoperable. Oh, it’s in my brain as well. The first realization that I had in all of this was “Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me …” (Jesus, Gospel of Matthew 10:37). As my wife and I contemplate what’s about to happen in our lives and the tears begin to flow, my love for my Lord and Saviour must be priority, greater than that for my wife and family. What a request, amazing when you take the time to think about it. Telling (her) that I love the Lord over all, was hard when she needs my comfort. I have no love for this world and what is happening to it. Death as a believer doesn’t really mean much considering what God has for me because of what Jesus has done. All the tears I’m not really sure of, they turn on and off, I have no control over them. It hurts inside me (who I really am) being rid of this flesh and restored before God, what a day that will be.
“I never knew you” (Jesus, Gospel of Matthew 7:21-23)
This should, no, this is the scariest phrase spoken of in Scripture. Everyone who claims to be a believer needs to evaluate themselves with a fine tooth comb. If you claim to be saved and are comfortable advocating for and living in a body of sinful flesh then I must inform you, you are the walking dead (1 John 5:12). Jesus is just going to tell you, “I never knew you—depart from me. I know you not.” To think you are, only to find out you are not—what a sad day that will be.”
Now you know what is written on these two pieces of light-blue notepad paper— the wisdom and insights that, in the end, he felt to be of the greatest importance. It is the last thing I can do to honour my friend Bob … but much more importantly, I have passed on my friend Bob’s last message to you.
