… died on Tuesday night.
It feels a bit strange writing about this here, but at the same time, how could I not write about it?
We knew it was coming. He’d been ill for a while, although it still seems sudden. Maybe it always seems sudden.
We also knew it was what he wanted. His quality of life had been deteriorating for a while. (I got upset yesterday thinking I’ll never again hear him whistling – he was a good whistler – but then I can’t remember the last time I heard him whistling.) He had Parkinson’s Disease and associated dementia and we know that he would never have wanted to go into a nursing home, which is where he would have had to go if he’d been able to come out of hospital. He knew that too. Which is, we assume, why he stopped eating and drinking and refused his medication (even repeatedly pulling a drip out of his arm).
Me and my sister were with him when he died, which was horrible, of course, but I’m glad we were there.
I’ll miss him.