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Thursday, October 20, 2011

Sooner or Later

I had to do this sometime. I keep reading others, but don't imagine I write as well or have something worthwhile to say. At least I can comment on most if I should so desire.

I found out this evening that a friend had died. We didn't see each other very often as we live on different sides of the border. He was diagnosed with cancer last year. He was fifteen years younger than me, much stronger, and ended every conversation with a smile no matter what direction the conversation had taken. He died over a week ago and I just found out. He fought long and hard and had good support from friends and family, but the damned stuff got him anyway. I really had thought he would make it. He took care of a lot of people and will be greatly missed by those whose lives he touched. Good bye my friend. You will be long remembered.

3 comments:

Nina Ø said...

Thank you for your story. I am going to be 66 next Monday and have been thinking about mortality in general alot recently. It is a mystery.

Linda deV said...

Jono...I have gone back to the beginning. I love the pictures you take and I agree with one of your earlier blogs that you seem foreign, but I thought European rather than other planetary. Now I see that your roots are very European and I wondered if you ever tell your father's story somewhere in your blog? You referenced that he stayed with a farmer and his wife and mother but that was it.

I wanted you to know that I truly enjoy your writing. A little history, a lot memories and a bit of everyday this and that. It's lovely.

Jono said...

Linda, Yes, There are excerpts from my father's autobiography interspersed throughout the blog, but I don't have it organized enough to tell you where they all are. I grew up (allegedly) in Delaware where my parents met. My father had come over from Norway in 1947 to continue his studies in textile chemistry. My grandmother had married one of Eisenhower's staff when in London (she was born there)and brought my mother and uncle with her when the war ended. My mother was still a teen when my dad met her at a dance at the YMCA. They later married and I was born about a year later. There are really a lot of wonderful stories in everyone's lives. Not always happy ones, but always good stories. I am honored you like some of mine.