Sometimes I didn’t hear from him for a year.
There’d always be a Christmas card, sometimes
it’d arrive a week late, overseas postmark,
scrawled handwriting, difficult to read a return
address, there was no mistaking who’d sent it.
Nothing came up in my search of obituaries
from his rural county in Northern Ireland.
Last time we spoke on the phone, I found him
in his usual excited manner, explaining his illness,
how it’d spread. He snuck in the word, “terminal”.
Brushing off my grief, he told me not to make
too much of it, It’d been a good life, to be sure.
Lad, I’ve figured it out, it’s only really about the
moments spent with loved ones and friends.
Your call today is proof of how great it’s been.
In the end, I found out from a mutual friend-
Your suspicions regarding Myles’ health are confirmed;
Myles has passed on, bless his soul. His Aunt was kind enough
to send a note highlighting what we already knew about the man.
Cheerful, positive and more concerned about everyone else.
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