It started out a pretty OK day. Watched a tiny bit of telly. Did some research on Robert Knowles. Played some Splinter Cell. Warning bells should have gone off when Sooz passed out at work for an unknown reason. She came home early so I went and bought her all sorts of “comfort” goodies and then kept her company until Murray could get off work (’cause she hates being alone when ill). When he arrived, I took off to go to Erin’s VIVA-passing/Nat’s birthday celebration(s) in the PGC. All this was making for a good day. I set off home by way of Jinty’s for a quick last one and as I am wont to do during such a walk, I used my time to call my folks to say howdy. Then the wheels kinda came off . . .

Grandpa Dave “died” when I was 10. He was ill . . . dunno from what but I wanna say cancer of the colon. Dee died when I was 23 of cancer. Papa is now in the hospital with what can only be complications arising from cancer. He’s had it for a while, though it’s been rather hush hush. Fair enough. The man is the most active, most healthy I’ve ever known. Being ill like that can’t be easy for anyone much less a paragon of fitness like him. But now he’s got problems with kidney failure and in my Dad’s words, “maybe it’s time to bring you home.”

So I’ll be going home for a fortnight starting May 3rd.

Scared?
Me?
Yeah.

Slainte.

“There are no words to be spoken
Just a look to say good-bye”
~Garth Brooks – “Ireland”

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