His Last Words Were Good Ones

I wrote, back in November, about my friend D. and his harmonica, and his cancer. Then it seemed that things were going well for D.  He'd been through chemo therapy, and by all indications (at least those he shared with us) he was getting better.  He looked better, had energy, and was gaining back the weight and color he'd lost during treatment. Things were looking up.

Then - in December - we were told that all that was for naught; the cancer had not shrunk, had in fact continue to spread during his treatment, and that he was being put into hospice care with the expectation that he would have six months to a year to live.

But D. didn't even have that.  He passed away yesterday afternoon.  He told W. his wife that he loved her, and went out the door to drive their son across town for an errand. Before he could get into their van, he fell over into the snow and was dead before the ambulances arrived for him.

D. was a man of few words, but his last ones were good ones.