musings

Now that I am sick with the infamous pneumonia, and have felt it's breath sucking power, hacked my way miserably hour by hour waiting until something would change. I have begun to feel real empathy on those on have ended their lives with diseases such as this.

There was a story that my grandfather died, after drinking away his savings- alone on the streets of pneumonia. And i have wondered did he fight to the end? or did he embrace it welcomingly?- while his body struggled through coughs to gain another breath? Or did his fight for every breath make him drink himself death? Because at least when you are drunk enough you don't feel that pain that rackels through your body as your body spasms and kicks and inhales and coughs in attempt to get enough air to keep functioning. And when you are drunk enough you probably don't care that you have sealed the warrant of your own demise.

I think that probably the pain of having nobody there to care for you would be worse then that of disease it's self, worse then the struggle for breath, worse then knowing that your mortal probation is up.

His alcoholism drove him away from his family and friends- when he was sober we all welcomed him, have great memories of him and great stories of his courage and love, but as a drunk no one was fool enough to hang around too long. And that drove him to be alone- drinking in bars and alleys as he hacked away his last breaths.

Sometimes I wish I would have known the man that was inside- the man he could have been. Maybe I will still get that chance.