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It's bright and fair outside.
The summer has been long and good.
In room no. 8 in an oncology ward sits a 68 year old man,
and reads feverishly in art books.
He has to reach it now, it's his last chance.
The doctors have told him that he only has months left to live.
The cancer has spread to his liver.
He looks sunburnt.
When I enter his room I say:
"Wow, how your hair has grown since the last time I saw you."
And he answers:
"See how fine and slim I've become."
"So this is what it takes to lose weight."
And then: "Now I'm reading about an exciting sculptor and his work."
"I've long intended to do that."
After some days I visit him again.
The day starts with a long and strenuos CT examination.
As the doctors have already told about his imminent death,
our 68 year old friend has, with customary precision,
written his last will.
There he has also described how his funeral shall be.
He asks me to pick up my flute and play all the hymns,
while he lies down.
Suddenly I break.
I start to cry loudly, and throw myself at him,
and embrace him.
He is completely silent.
It is time for lunch.
In the middle of chewing, he gets his words mixed up.
He can say what he wants and what he thinks,
but the words no longer come out like they used to.
Life and emotions swell out of him.
He is radiant.
We communicate more and more with our hands and eyes,
less and less with words.
He radiates warmth,
some kind of heavenly light.
He is very much alive.
Open, like a child.
He takes our hands.
In the evening he has lost his consciousness,
and there are many of us gathered around him,
and we have been singing hymns and said prayers,
and talked to him like he understood what was said.
The body contracts, the bones tighten.
He chokes now and then.
And continues to breathe.
Slowly, again and again.
Long inhalations,
and long exhalations.
The body contracts, the bones tighten.
He chokes now and then.
And continues to breathe.
Slowly, again and again.
Long inhalations,
and long exhalations.
And then a long, long inhalation.
And a long exhalation.
The last one.
Wonderful.
Rest.
Calm.
The room is quiet.
Filled with sorrow and insight.
I step up to him.
He is warm.
I kiss his forehead and say to him:
"Fly now. You are free."
We collect his cloths and shoes,
and put them in a white plastic bag.
And then we go home in the night.