A few minutes ago a friend called to say our friend died, he was found in his bed. He was 52, he had CP. I screamed. I thought he had decades.
Over the years he's given me great advice, he was a good listener and I think about him nearly every day. He was smart, very smart. He was hardworking. He was patient. He didn't deserve to die but I guess it's never about that.
52 isn't right, you shouldn't die at 52. You had so much more to do. I always wondered what you would be like as an old man. I used to picture it.
People never realized how much you did or how strong and smart you were. I never met anyone who had less quit in him. I never heard excuses from him, only about what was next. Oh he wasn't a saint, he grumbled and lost his patience. He was like anyone. But, he was a great guy. I am trying to find out now about the service. I want to speak, I want people to know things about him I don't think they had any inkling of.
Not many were like you and 52 was too young. Whatever happened, 52 was too young.