Gifted with boundless energy, a father faces his final days and leaves a lasting message

I have interviewed Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers. I froze up, speechless, in my first one-on-one meeting with Bart Starr. I covered Michael Jordan and the 72-win World Champion Chicago Bulls, and way back in college, I met Bob Knight in his office for an hour.

But in nearly three decades of asking famous and powerful people questions for this job, the toughest interview I’ve ever done in my life was in April.

My friend had just been told by his medical team that he had three weeks to live after he had spent the last year and a half battling cancer. The fight was over. It was time for impossible goodbyes. And his family hoped he would record a few messages with me on video for his three young children who will, someday, want to hear their father’s voice once again.

Christian Diompy never met a stranger nor made an enemy. His easy smile and rolling thunder of a laugh were just teasers of his outgoing personality and big heart. The assistant dean of students and teacher at Atlas Preparatory Academy in Milwaukee, and group exercise instructor at the Princeton Club in New Berlin, lived his life behind two general principles: help others and fill every day with good experiences and encounters.

Born in Senegal in 1978 to a teacher and a hospital delivery nurse, Christian grew up with seven siblings – and sometimes foster kids – in a community halfway between the city of Dakar and rural farmland, where goats roamed in the fields and peanuts and mangoes grew plentiful. Christian was smart and athletic, so he ran track and earned a degree at Cheikh Anta Diop University.

In 2006 Christian met Christine Boehm, of Muskego, while she was in Senegal for a mission trip. They married, and Christian moved to New Berlin and became an American citizen. In the prime of their lives, their purpose revolved around raising their three children: Leia, 10; Jude, 6; and Zaina, 5. Most nights, homework was spread across the kitchen table, toys were all over the house.

They were surrounded by family and friends, too. We celebrated Christian, our Senegalese friend with the French accent, on St. Patrick’s Day, which was his birthday, with green beer at Matty’s Bar & Grille.

I took as many of Christian’s classes as I could at the gym because I loved his energy, and I quickly became friends with Christian and then Christine.

The diagnosis of Stage 4 esophageal cancer, already spread to his lungs and liver by the time it was discovered and diagnosed in November 2016, was a complete shock. He was only 38.

Christian fought his cancer with such determination that it was easy to forget he was teaching just days after chemotherapy infusions, or sometimes, with a port line pumping the chemo directly into his chest. That smile found joy in the smallest moments and that laugh covered so much of the work and struggle he faced just to survive.

But on March 15, two days before his 40th birthday, Christian pulled himself off his couch into the Princeton Club for his Thursday night spin class. He was more tired than usual. The chemotherapy, radiation, steroid therapies and past hospitalizations had all taken a heavy toll on his body.

Cancer was now in his brain, his hips and his bones. The fittest man we knew was weak and fatigued. But that would not stop him. Not Christian. He showed up like always, never letting on how he felt, and opened spin class singing along to U2’s “Beautiful Day.”

On April 1, doctors had reached the end of treatment options and gave Christian about three weeks to live.

As open and friendly as Christian was, he was never great at expressing his emotions and feelings. When his family asked him to send messages to his children through videos, he said he would – but then always put it off.

I’d interviewed Christian before. Being so healthy and strong helped him withstand aggressive cancer therapies, so I wrote a story about it. But the fight was only a few months old then, and his spirits were still good.

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As time wore on and treatments never ended, he became more guarded with his feelings.

When Christine persisted, Christian warmed up to the idea of video messages, but still kept stalling. His headaches and dizziness were so severe, he was not up for it. He left the hospital for at-home hospice. Precious days flew by. We thought the videos might never happen.

And then, on April 13, Christine texted me: Christian was finally ready to talk.

I raced over to his house before he could change his mind, but when I got to his front door, I paused. Of all the hundreds and hundreds of interviews I’ve done, and all the nerves I've had to overcome, this was by far the most gut-wrenching.

I’d been crying for Christian since the diagnosis. Friends told me then that I could not fall apart in front of him. I knew I could not now. I rang the doorbell.

It had been a few days since I’d seen Christian and the first thing I noticed was how gingerly and slowly he moved, like a very old man. But the smile was there. He was willing to do this.

We moved to a room where we could talk in private, but just before I went in, his mother-in-law Linda thanked me for coming and asked me, kindly, if I could get Christian to say, “I love you” to each of his kids on video.

My heart tightened. I would try, but I made no promises. You can’t make people say anything, at least not sincerely. I didn’t know what I would get from Christian, but I knew I could not push him like I could push professional athletes. This interview would be like no other.

We began with names. How did Christian and Christine come up with the names for their children? Then we moved on to Christine. How did they meet in Senegal? At a gym – of course, and Christian pursued her even though his English wasn't very good at the time. I hoped these would break the ice to put Christian at ease, and they did.

“I saw Christine lifting weights,” said Christian. “A girl lifting weights? I mean, you don’t see it in my country. I mean, girls are not even sometimes at the gym. It’s like taboo; traditional male have to work out.”

Christian said we could keep going, but I was reading his facial expressions and body language, too. I was not willing to push him more than he could handle — physically or emotionally. Christian’s eyes were alert, he was smiling a lot, and I took these as signs to continue.

Milwaukee Bucks star Jabari Parker once told me that when he visits homeless shelters, he always engages people in conversation by asking them where they’re from. Everyone comes from somewhere. I asked Christian about his native Senegal.

But I wanted to know, specifically, where his children should go if they ever visit Africa. Christian described his neighborhood, his Catholic schools, his university and we even wrote the names and locations down.

Then we moved on to the messages that had only one purpose: a father’s advice to his children as they grew up. How would they choose their focus of study. How would they handle dating? How would they know they found true love? Or their life’s passion in their career?

And then we got even more personal. I asked Christian to describe what personality traits of his have been passed on to his children. Instead, he focused on the traits he admired.

“Each of them have something very special,” said Christian. “My oldest one Leia ... she is still learning about life. The learning process that I am seeing with her is the type that will end up grasping a lot. That’s different, I don’t see it with all kids. ... And I think in a few years she will use it in a positive way.

“Most people say Jude look like me, which is a big compliment. He rode the bike at 2 already. He was solid. Jude is a shy character if he doesn’t know you, but if he know you, he will start talking to you. I can see him being very smart. He tell me all the time, ‘I like the math. I like the engineering. I like the building.’ I say, honey, you can do whatever you want.

“Zaina is ... she’s sassy. I’m going to go straight to the point. You know students who have the drama? That’s my daughter. I can see that happening in high school. She would like to be responsible of the group, she would like to monitor them and tell them what to do, and I would like to say to those other parents: sorry.”

We both laughed here, since his daughter is adorable. I said Zaina sounds like a leader.

“Oh I try to be a leader – but it’s natural on her,” said Christian.

We moved on to faith. Christian grew up Catholic but attended a Lutheran church with Christine here in Wisconsin. To him, faith wasn't about just identifying with one specific religion. Faith could be an ever-evolving enlightenment.

“So if my son go to Cambodia and become a monk, to me, it’s 'a grow,'” Christian said. “I call it an opening. He will bring more, he will learn more, he will share more, he will become more of the humanity. So a Diompy becoming a monk in Cambodia? To me, it’s cool! I’m looking for growth.”

And Christian did say, "I love you," to each of his children, looking directly into the camera.

Finally, Christian spoke about his wife. He acknowledged that he wasn’t very open with his feelings, that he wasn’t always affectionate, that he was “Africani” and had ideas about what being a man should be. But he changed because of her. Christine, he said, made him a better father.

We ended with some chatter about a few nicknames he got from Senegal that only people from home would know about. Christian was starting to look worn out now. He was willing to keep going, but I felt like that he was just trying to be kind. We had been talking for 90 minutes. I politely excused myself and gave my larger-than-life friend a big hug goodbye.

I shot Christian’s video question by question, meaning I have 21 separate videos of him, with each of his responses ranging between 3 minutes and 8 minutes long. I have them saved everywhere: on my laptop, on our family’s home computer, on Facebook, and on my son’s computer so he can upload them to YouTube this summer.

That was the last time I saw Christian alive. He died April 30. At his funeral, his best friend said death could only take a man like Christian while he was sleeping. No truer words have ever been said.

Happy Father’s Day, my friend. Happy wedding anniversary this month to you and your beautiful bride. Your family misses you so much. Thank you for this eternal gift.

Lori Nickel is a general assignment reporter for sports and also writes health and fitness features for the Journal Sentinel. She also writes a column, Chin Up.