annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Birthday
Today was his birthday. My brother. He would have been 61, which seems old to many, but not old enough to me. I met his wife, S, and sons on the beach with the dogs, the sea glass beach, and we walked it slowly, at low tide, in the late afternoon as the sun did its thing:
S wrote on the sand 'Happy birthday Andrew, we love and miss you' and we do.
This was at Younger Daughter's wedding in 2014
and this was last winter, probably the last photo of him. And the dog
We went back to his house and ate a birthday dinner (via deliveroo) and raised a glass.
Usually the birthday would be my day of remembrance as I always forget what day it was when people die, but he died on the Ides of March, so I'll remember that as well.
He died well, my brother, leaving while he still had dignity and didn't need help with things he preferred to manage himself. He refused further treatment and hospitalisation. On his last day, no longer able to speak or remember much, he wrote a note to one of his sons: 'Where's the fucking toilet?' I sincerely admire his use of the word fucking in that context. He'd lived in the same house for 25 years, so forgetting where the toilet is would make him swear and somehow find the energy to write the fucking word.
Later he staggered downstairs, grabbed the remote control and put Bottom on. The family watched a whole series together, then he went upstairs to bed. His wife, sons and dog joined him and he died a few hours later, in his bed, with his family.
I love you.
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GvBrU1Cofms&w=560&h=315]
12:09 a.m. - 03.01.19
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