Another funeral this week. The courageous man, who fought and won so many battles against cancer but had to capitulate in the end.

Although I have known him since 1999, even been a neighbour of sorts for seven years, I was able to accept, he didn’t want to fight any longer. As he told me a week before he died, he didn’t want the time, further treatment could buy him. That there was no hope anymore, he knew already. And that he loved life he had proven beyond any doubt, fighting for it, the way he had, on and off, for over a decade. His choice of farewell song – “I did it my way” – helped me let go.

What was, and is, unbearable, is to see his wife suffering so much. She said to me a couple of days ago, that despite all the time they had to prepare for this, she has no idea how to go on. I, along with many other friends, am prepared to help her through. But there is nothing, one can do, to fix mortality. One can think about it. Or describe it. Or paint pictures about it. Like the ones, I chose for this Sunday.

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