Nothing wakes you up out of a self-centered funk faster than news no one wants to hear.

I've had my moments of despair in these weeks before I start 90 days in prison for campaign spending violations. Family and true friends have provided unconditional support, but having to pay such a price has shaken my world like nothing else in 51 years of life.

Then came Dan Harada's phone call.

My childhood friend grew up in the Nu'uanu area, but has called Oregon home for more than 20 years. His usually chipper voice was weak.

"I'm kinda sick," said the McKinley graduate, who recently attended several Class of '72 high school reunion events. "I'm not sure which way this is going to go."

Dan explained that a check for abdominal pain revealed an advanced stage of liver cancer that may or may not respond to treatment of any kind.

His words came haltingly. I searched for words to say before he piped in with:

"But guess what? I have some good news — after a 15-minute phone call, I saved a bundle on GEICO auto insurance!"

That was vintage Dan, full of good humor in the face of trouble.

My thoughts raced to our recent reacquaintance at a reunion event in Las Vegas last May. A hypnotist was the featured performer, and Dan was front and center.

Each subject onstage was commanded to respond to a "trigger" word, and Dan's was "water." Every time that word was mentioned, Dan was to play the role of a lifeguard ordering people out of the water.

"Don't pee in my pool!" Dan would yell precisely on cue whenever his word was mentioned. The alumni audience was laughing to tears.

He later confided to me that he "wasn't really under" the hypnotist's spell, but wanted to give his classmates a good time. Either way, he did.

I last saw him in person just three months ago here in Honolulu. He flew in for another reunion event that evidently triggered more than lifeguard duties, as he revealed in the hotel room we shared that night.

"The feeling I get being among our friends reminds me how special Hawai'i is," he said. "I gotta move home, Dalt." He was serious, and we began plotting on getting him a job in his field of school food service.

Upon his return to Oregon, he would reveal one more desire. "I'm thinking about getting married when I move back," he told me. "Bonnie's a special gal."

Recalling those dreams Dan was dreaming made this phone call even more tough to take. He said surgery might help, and he "elected to be positive and hoped to beat this thing before it beats me."

"But how are you doing, Dalton? Your family OK? How can I help you?"

Here was a man staring death in the face, and he's asking how he can help me?

I told him don't even think about my situation, and just get better so we can start planning his bachelor's party. That was in early November.

Less than a month later, Dan was gone, as the cancer had spread with frightening speed. And as I enter a place with locks I can't open, one thing is clear to me: The fragility of life has a way of putting everything in perspective.

Dalton Tanonaka, a former journalist, ran for state lieutenant governor and later for Congress. He wrote this commentary for The Advertiser.