My youngest sister sent me a text late yesterday morning. A dear friend of ours, Jim Cornwall, passed away after losing his battle with cancer of the blood. Old enough to be our grandfather, he was one of the kindest, sweetest people you could ever hope to meet who always had a big, happy smile. He had nary a negative thing to say about a person, and he'd always put others first.
Mr. C was widowed about five years ago. It was heartbreaking. Even though I didn't get to see him often (as he lived about 3 hours away from me), I always had the feeling that even if he was feeling alone, he could never be lonely. Someone would always make sure that he was over for supper, or pay him a visit for an afternoon to see how he was holding up.
After shit hit the fan within my family, I remember I had sent him a Christmas card. By this time, he'd been widowed for about two years. I thought nothing of sending him a card. It was Mr. C. Why wouldn't I? You send such things to people you care about, so of course, I made sure Jim made the list. One evening, that December, he called me. He wanted to thank me for the card I sent him, but he wanted to thank me for something else too. He had told me that after Margaret passed, he just didn't feel the holiday spirit anymore, and hadn't sent out any cards or letters. But the one he received from me reminded him that there were still plenty of people in the world who cared about him and loved him dearly. I'd reignited the holiday spark in him, even if only for a little while, and he was going to send out cards that year. Who knew such a small, simple act could have such a large impact? He'd called me a few times since, just to say hello. Even though I hadn't seen him in a couple of years, we made sure that both of us knew that the other was still important.
Mr. C didn't deserve cancer. He deserved to live out his days happily and peacefully, not in a hospital fighting a losing battle. At least I'll always have that gentle, smiling face to remember him by.
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