The last time we interacted was before my grandfather's memorial, and I pissed him off in a big way. Others reassured me that it happened often and not to take it personally. I wrote him a few times and once again a few weeks ago, but I never heard back and I never will.

I found out late last night that Z died last week due to complications from a blood clot lodged near his spinal cord in an untouchable part of the brain. He could have received oxygen to help with his breathing and liquid to help with his eating, but Z had made a decision: no more tubes.

A year ago, he wasted away and the family watched, pained and objecting, insisting he go on with life and hold out for a cure. This time, nobody knew.

I am awe-struck by his courage to die the way that he did and I'm so proud of him. It's beyond pride, actually, perhaps "reverence" would cover what I am feeling about him and the decision he made.