Two deep gasping breaths, then stopped as I entered the room. The woman sitting by his bedside turned to me and with anguish said,

“There, he just stopped. He just took his last breath.” The grandfather wall clock rang out 1030 all in sequence and I felt his soul rush by my left ear as I looked at the bright sun outside.

He was still warm, but caved in, face hollowed by this final, slow illness that he had fought until the last. So full of life, he refused to speak of death. Instead, he kicked and punched, hearing stories of others living until 100 on ensure, which motivated him to drink it, although the taste wasn’t to his liking. He told his niece to buy him milkshakes after I had told him how fattening they were, and loved A&W root beer shakes- I didn’t even know they made them.

I gently listened to his chest, finding the stethoscope difficult to manoeuvre over a bony manubrium, too many deep valleys between ribs that had long since lost any padding. No breath or heart sounds.

I saw his jaw move with gravity, relaxing into the left side of the bed, as though moving in his sleep and thought for one horrified moment that we had rushed him, then remembered that happens sometimes as the body relaxes. 

His eyes not yet glazed, not enough time passed, looked off into the distance, an unblinking stare with no pupillary reaction to the beautiful sunlight streaming over his soft white sheets.

I remember trying not to laugh at the wrong time as he told me a funny story- I didn’t know him long but he was a real comedian, and his animation was always funnier than the story he was telling. I remember how happy he always was to see me walk in, ready to laugh at his next joke. Even though he was always so frail, he had a larger than life personality, with stories that would make a lumberjack marvel.

He lay there peacefully. He went without any fuss, or any distress. Truly what we would consider a good death, although no death is ever good to those left behind. I carefully closed unblinking eyelids over deep black pools.I will carry his memory now that he has taken a part of me with him. 

May his zest for life remind everyone he touched how beautiful life is.