Warren Zevon: 'Enjoy Every Sandwich'

Warren Zevon understood mortality better than most songwriters. For decades, his darkly comedic songs explored death, addiction, and human frailty with an unflinching eye. When the singer-songwriter received a diagnosis of inoperable pleural mesothelioma in August 2002, he responded with the same wry acceptance that defined his music.

He had perhaps a year to live. Instead of pursuing aggressive treatment, Zevon chose to spend his remaining time doing what he did best: making music.

A Diagnosis Without Warning

Zevon had avoided doctors for nearly two decades before shortness of breath and a persistent cough finally drove him to seek medical attention in the summer of 2002. The diagnosis was devastating: pleural mesothelioma, an aggressive cancer of the lung lining caused almost exclusively by asbestos exposure.

The cancer had already spread too far for surgical intervention. Doctors offered chemotherapy and radiation, but warned that these treatments would only extend his life by weeks or months at best—while significantly diminishing its quality.

Zevon made a decision that surprised many but aligned with how he had always lived. He declined treatment entirely.

“I’m okay with it, but it’ll be a drag if I don’t make it till the next James Bond movie comes out,” he told his friend David Letterman. The remark captured Zevon’s characteristic gallows humor—a coping mechanism that served him well in his final year.

The Final Album

Rather than retreating from public life, Zevon threw himself into recording what would become The Wind, his final studio album. The project brought together an extraordinary group of collaborators: Bruce Springsteen, Don Henley, Tom Petty, Emmylou Harris, Jackson Browne, and other artists who wanted to honor their friend while he was still alive to hear it.

The recording sessions were necessarily brief. Zevon’s declining health meant he could only work for short periods. But the music that emerged was some of his most powerful—songs about loss, regret, and the strange peace that can come with accepting the inevitable.

“Keep Me in Your Heart,” the album’s closing track, became an unlikely hit. Its simple plea—asking loved ones to remember him after he’s gone—resonated far beyond Zevon’s existing fan base.

The Wind was released on August 26, 2003. Zevon died 12 days later, on September 7, 2003.

”Enjoy Every Sandwich”

On October 30, 2002, David Letterman devoted an entire episode of Late Show to his dying friend. It was an unusual format for late-night television: an hour-long conversation with a man who knew he was dying, interspersed with musical performances.

Letterman asked Zevon what, knowing his diagnosis, he had learned about life and death that he didn’t know before.

“How much you’re supposed to enjoy every sandwich,” Zevon replied.

The line became famous—a distillation of the wisdom that can emerge when someone confronts mortality honestly. It wasn’t about grand gestures or bucket lists. It was about finding meaning in ordinary moments.

Zevon gave Letterman one of his guitars during that taping. Years later, Letterman would describe the gift as one of his most treasured possessions.

In 2025, Zevon was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, more than two decades after his death. The recognition was long overdue for an artist whose influence extended far beyond his commercial success.

The Question of Exposure

Mesothelioma is caused almost exclusively by asbestos exposure, typically decades before symptoms appear. The disease’s long latency period—often 20 to 50 years—makes pinpointing the source of exposure difficult.

Zevon’s most likely exposure came through his father, William Zevon, who worked in the asbestos insulation industry during Warren’s childhood. This type of exposure is known as secondary or take-home exposure: workers would return home with asbestos fibers on their clothing, hair, and skin, inadvertently exposing family members who never set foot in a workplace.

Secondary exposure has proven particularly devastating for women and children who lived with asbestos workers. The fibers could accumulate in carpets, furniture, and bedding, creating ongoing exposure for years.

Zevon himself was unaware of his asbestos exposure history when he received his diagnosis. Like many mesothelioma patients, he had no idea he had ever been at risk.

A Different Kind of Awareness

Zevon never became a formal spokesperson for mesothelioma awareness. He didn’t testify before Congress or appear in public service announcements. But his decision to live his final months publicly—to continue performing, recording, and talking honestly about his diagnosis—brought attention to a disease that many Americans had never heard of.

His approach to dying was neither heroic nor tragic in the conventional sense. He didn’t speak of “fighting” his cancer or “staying positive.” He simply continued being Warren Zevon: sardonic, creative, and honest about the absurdity of existence.

“I might have made a tactical error in not going to a physician for 20 years,” he admitted in one interview. The comment was characteristically self-deprecating, but it also carried an implicit message about the importance of medical care—even for those who consider themselves invincible.

Legacy

Warren Zevon released 12 studio albums over three decades. Songs like “Werewolves of London” and “Lawyers, Guns and Money” became classic rock staples. But his final work, created in the shadow of a terminal diagnosis, may ultimately prove his most enduring.

The Wind won two Grammy Awards posthumously: Best Contemporary Folk Album and Best Rock Vocal Performance for “Disorder in the House.” The album reached No. 12 on the Billboard 200, his highest chart position ever.

More importantly, Zevon’s final months demonstrated that there is no single correct way to face a terminal illness. His choice to decline treatment was right for him. Others in his situation have made different choices, and those are equally valid. What mattered was that Zevon approached his death on his own terms, with the same honesty that defined his life.

For the approximately 3,000 Americans diagnosed with mesothelioma each year, Zevon’s story offers neither false hope nor easy answers. It offers something perhaps more valuable: an example of living fully even when the future has narrowed to months rather than decades.

Enjoy every sandwich.