Can't think of where else to put this, so here it goes. Got news through my mother that my Uncle Harry in New York has got about 48 hours to live.
A few of the Talkbackers over there have met him from the time when I lived in New York. He is (was going to write was, but not yet) one of the most charismatic men you could ever hope to meet and, if the so-called Irish charm is a stereotype, he at least came very close to the perfect example. When sober.
I lived in the apartment above him for two and a half years when he the super in the block and I grew to know him well. He was mostly sober, barring a relapse just around the time I moved there (a trip to rehab got himself sober again), and until towards the end when the last time I saw him he was being carted off to another rehab. I had visited him in various places since.
He has possibly the sharpest wit I've come across; always a funny rejoinder, always on the tease. Generally in Irish households you're never more than three sentences from being roasted by another family member; with Harry it was immediate and constant.
I tried calling the number my mother gave me but it rang off. According to my Uncle Joe hea been asking for me. Whether that's because he's off his tits on morphine and thinks he wants $10 for beer or whether he genuinely wants to speak to me one last time is irrelevant. He wants to speak to me and I'm quite touched.
I only hope I'm not too late: I have my spiel prepared. "So you're finally leaving us you old bastard; you threatened to leave us so many times, and disappeared so often but this is it. I love you you old bastard, despite all the shit you caused, and I'll miss you." Somewhere deep down, even if he can't respond, I hope he'll hear it and smile.