The dracula days are over. Now even my sister concedes he is on his way out. It could be days, it could be a month. I don't really want to see the last bit. Although maybe it isn't as bad as imagining it, which is awful. I get it over the phone, and I think I'd rather just wait for the funeral. I just wish it could be over quickly for him. It's a lousy way to die. Really lousy. And though everyone and myself is ready for it, and thinking beyond it, it hangs like a cloud. And imagining the pain is just dreadful. It really is no way to die. All the money that is donated to cancer charities makes little difference to the end game, which is all about slow, lingering death.
My poor Dad. I wish you a speedy exit, while you can still hold a sensible memory before you close your eyes for the last time. I wish you could be me, so that you could just lie in the forest out in the cold and be gone by the morning. It's the very least dignity that any animal gets, and the very least that any man should be entitled to.