My uncle passed away last night, after a year or so fighting against brain cancer. In the end it was all rather quick; for many months it had been possible to forget that he was terminally ill, and certainly he lived with an optimism that defied his prognosis. In recent months he declined quite quickly, though, and he ended up only spending three weeks confined to his bed before the end came in a rush.
I can’t help but wonder if in that last month he realized that he was beat and decided not to fight, particularly once he got to see the first pictures of his new grandson. I may well be seeing something that’s not there. I certainly don’t mean it as a sign of weakness; I think perhaps that even in his foggy state he may have recognized that there’s a point where you’ve done what you can.
A military man once said that when you can’t run, you crawl. And when you can’t crawl, when you can’t do that, you find someone to carry you. I hope someone is there to carry you now Tom.