He was battle-weary,but his controversial choice to discontinue life-saving measures was made from a place of strength I never knew anyone who would soon die. Never saw the specter of death lingering ominously over someone, slowly and methodically subtracting life in small but highly visible amounts until all that was left was an unfamiliar rendering of someone once so familiar. When my stepfather Fred died – a once barrel-chested black soldier with a proud gait – he did so in solemn increments. Each day, or for weeks,he wilted and withered, falling inward like a flower deprived of light and water until eventually he was closed off to us forever. I flew domestic to Colorado on what I thought would be the eve of his death.
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Source: guardian.co.uk