"I want to go home" (said full of anger as a demand and not a request) the last time I saw him at the hospital. He had liver cancer and was bleeding out faster than they could put blood back in him. He went home and got out his old A-5 Browning, then changed his mind. (I later found it sitting by his chair) He got in his truck, ran it up to 80mph and hit a low concrete bridge barrier killing himself. In the last few months of his life when a normal man in his condition would draw those he loved close to him-he managed to alienate everyone who gave a damn about him until all were glad he was gone. However, he actions did have one unintended kindness. The auto insurance company paid death benefits sufficient to bury him and a very generous property settlement on the truck. This kept my brother and I from having to try to clean and sell the filthy POS that smelled like the bottom of a pool hall butt can. My father never cleaned a car after he bought one, smoked with the windows rolled up and flipped ashes in the floorboard. I doubt we could have given the truck away.
My stepfather, a man I loved very dearly, who battled pancreatic cancer with courage and dignity said "I love you and take care of your mother". I know where his soul resides. I am not certain about my father's.
