Some time ago, I wrote an entry about a woman I'd never met, the mother of my best friend since childhood, taken by cancer when my friend was still a teenager. Just yesterday that same friend also lost his father, again to cancer, and finds himself parentless at just 41.
I cannot begin to imagine the pointless fury I'd feel at such indifferent cruelty on the part of an arbitrary, mindless disease were the same thing to happen to my parents, but, having spoken to him, I know he'll deal with it stoically and with fortitude that would probably be lacking in my own case.
His dad was an old-fashioned gentleman (I mean that as the highest possible compliment) of the very strongest morality. Fiercely independent, private, stubborn (though always with a glint in his eye), his sense of right and wrong could be absolutely relied upon. I first met him when I was just just a kid, and his character and innate goodness were obvious even to my ignorant then-16-year-old eyes. That did not change right up to the last time I saw him, just a couple of weeks before he passed away.
He and his 90-odd-year-old neighbour, also a widower, looked out for each other right up to the point where neither of them could do so any longer, and he talked eloquently to us, the next generation down, about what he'd seen and done.
When somebody good, somebody who's left, particularly in his children, something positive to the world, is lost to it, we all lose something. I have nothing but admiration and respect for his memory, and can only pass on my sincerest condolences to his extended family. Most particularly his son - my mate - and his daughter, both astonishingly strong, exemplars of care and attention that they've been. They were both with him right to the end. He can have asked for no better company during his last few days - my heart goes out to them.
I couldn't have put it better myself.
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