Today I watched my mate of 17 years fighting for every breath whilst I held his hand and kissed his forehead.
It felt so abstract. The gradual demise of a man who was larger than life. Death reduces us all down to size.
But so does living...
I tried to think of every excuse on why I shouldn't go and visit him. I didn't want to deal with the reality of him dying.
But I went.
Because this wasn't about me. This was about 17 years of mateship. This was about his beautiful family.
As I gazed at Max from the privileged position of good health -- a few lines from TS Eliot's poem 'The Hollow Men' washed over me.
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.