So my friend Lolly. The one who had a stroke, the one I've visited every Thursday, watched him slowly, slowly learn to walk again and then watched go downhill again.
He went AWOL end of May, got cancer. Since then I've read messages and hoped, and hoped that my instincts were wrong. That it wasn't what I thought. That I was projecting those hateful memories of Dad onto him.
God I wanted so much to be wrong.
I wasn't wrong.
A friend M rang me Thursday. She'd heard stories about him going into a hospice.
We both tried to get hold of him and his brother. Friday night my fears were confirmed.
He has weeks, if not days. He didn't want to see anyone.
Heartbroken. I hated that I couldn't help him, couldn't see him. Needed to do something. As always I couldn't cry, forced myself to go do something.
Saturday afternoon I text his brother just to tell him that although I didn't understand what THEY were going through, I knew to a degree. That I respected their need for privacy but if they needed me, to get in touch.
He told me to visit. He said that Lolly was trying to protect us and would be overjoyed to see us.
So G and I went.
He was thin, painfully thin but I knew to expect that, still some padding about the face. Hard. So hard. So glad G was with me to bounce talk off of him.
He asked at one point if we knew why he was there. I said yes and that I had guessed a long time ago.
He was going to say more but we were disturbed by a nurse. He collected his thoughts and asked what I was saying. I panicked and thought that perhaps he didnt know so made up a story.
He said he was just there until they control the vomiting and diarrhoea.
Protecting us again.

I'm going to see him again on Thursday. No G this time so it will be hellish hard. 

Why am I going through this again? It's not fair and once again all I want to do is crawl under my duvet and cry, but something forces me on.
It's not fair on the most gentle, sweetest man I know. He needs a miracle.