Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

- Amelia Burr

GRUNDY CENTER - Ben Forker sat in his dark green recliner inside his home and talked about the chemotherapy he's undergone for cancer treatment while smoothing out what remained of his white hair.

"This is my cancer haircut," he said, smiling.

Staff from Cedar Valley Hospice sitting in the room with him weren't sure whether to laugh at the obviously dark humor. But a few giggles escaped anyway, and Forker's eyes began twinkling again when they asked if he would like to speak at a hospice event Dec. 9.

"Am I going to be here Dec. 9?" he asked his nurse, Allison Delagardelle. Everyone understood what Forker meant. Then, after Delagardelle nervously replied he's welcome if he feels up to going, he had another query: Could he leave his wife, Rita, at home, and go as Allison's date?

Everyone now laughed openly, and Forker had proven his point: He may be facing death, but he's still allowed to smile, and so are those around him.

"Death can be as beautiful as a newborn baby," he said.

As cancer of the peritoneum - the membrane that forms the lining of the abdominal cavity - takes hold in Forker's stomach and lungs, and weekly chemotherapy treatments further weaken his body, Forker has increasingly relied on Cedar Valley Hospice, his wife, family, friends and neighbors to help him with daily tasks.

It would frustrate anybody, but especially a man who owned several businesses around the Cedar Valley during his lifetime and is used to being the boss. Now, he must get used to the other side of things.

"I could sit back in my chair and give up," he said. "But I like challenges."

Past life

Most people in hospice, which is end-of-life care for those with terminal illnesses, understandably don't want to share their circumstances with many. Sickness and especially death are very intimate issues.

Forker, however, has spoken to the public several times already. Helping people learn about a patient's view of the process is one of Forker's dreams, said Mary Alfrey, director of advancement at Cedar Valley Hospice.

"A lot of people, as they're going through the end stages of life, want to make sure they're leaving their mark," Alfrey said. "And that's part of what we do. By the time they die, there's no unfinished business."

What also makes Forker's case unique from others in the hospice care system is that he knows exactly what it's like to be the caretaker of someone about to die from cancer. Eyes closed, remembering, Forker leans back and speaks in a clear voice about his first wife, Kay.

They were high school sweethearts, married Dec. 29, 1956.

"She had a beautiful smile," Forker said.

Forker also recalled how he took care of her while she slowly lost a nine-year battle with bone cancer in 1990, at age 52. That time around, hospice care didn't appeal to him.

"In my heart, I knew I could take better care of her than hospice, because I loved her," Forker said.

He learned how to complete daily tasks for Kay while she was at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn. When they returned home, Forker would get up every morning, talking and praying with her. He washed her hair, put makeup on her and changed the sheets on her bed. He learned how to move her limbs so they wouldn't atrophy.

The last two years before Kay succumbed to the disease were the worst, Forker remembered. After the funeral, he shut himself off from the world - literally, by locking the door and pulling the blinds - for months, grieving.

"There was one thing I just couldn't beat, and that was cancer in my wife," he said.

The other side

Forker, a Christian, had his faith in God severely tested during the months and years that followed Kay's death. He remembers screaming to the heavens daily for answers before finally realizing he wasn't going to get any.

"No one can tell you how anyone died," Forker said. "You have to figure that out yourself."

Eventually, his immense sadness deepened into a renewed spirituality, and he began returning to church. He met Rita at a religious event at Nazareth Lutheran Church in Cedar Falls, marrying her in August 1995.

"She had big brown eyes, dark curly hair and a smile that just warms your heart," he said. "I sat there, thinking, 'I'm gonna marry that girl.'"

Then, in March of this year, Forker's doctor confirmed cancer of the peritoneum had spread to his stomach and lungs. They didn't know exactly where it originated.

In May, Cedar Valley Hospice stepped in. What Forker used to do for Kay, Hospice and Rita now do for Forker. That includes Forker's nurse, Delagardelle, his social worker, Jamie Paige, a spiritual counselor, a home health aide and a volunteer. Each have varying jobs.

Forker also gives back to Hospice, speaking at events to staff, putting together the first draft of a book and making a tape of several songs.

Today, Forker sees things from Kay's perspective.

"She knew, like I know now, she was going to pass on," Forker said.

He's alternately at peace with that decision and not willing to accept it, because he believes a positive outlook is especially important now. If he gives up now, he said, the cancer will quickly take over.

"Hey, I'm sick, but it's not going to get me," he said. "No way is it going to get me."

Forker talks about his dreams, which are to help Cedar Valley Hospice and to support Columbus High School, where Rita works as director of campus ministries. He hopes to continue speaking at public functions and helping Columbus as much as he can.

"That's what I'm keeping alive with," he said.

Contact Amie Steffen at (319) 291-1464 or amie.steffen@wcfcourier.com.