Frank R. Lopez

Last Tuesday my great-uncle Frank lost a long battle with cancer and died. He had the cancer for years, but in the last few months it became too much for him to handle. He was hospitalized, though he hated the loss of his freedom, and a week before his death he stopped eating. I knew a soon as I heard that that the end was near, he had fought the good fight but there's only so long anyone's body can last.

He's not in pain anymore. He's not regretting the loss of his freedom anymore. He's not waiting anymore.

He was 76, and saw a lot and did a lot while he was here, and had his independence up until the last few months of his life.

He was the last male in my family of my grandparent's generation that I grew up knowing. My father's father died over years, and it was hard on the him and on the family but we all had time to say good bye. My mother's father died suddenly, quickly as he did everything. He never was big on goodbyes. I've thought a lot about which way was easier, on the person dying and on the family, and I really can't say. No one gets a choice of course, and there's nothing you can do either way, but still I'd like to go out like my Grandpop Joe, catching squirrels and up on the roof one minute and then gone the next.
I'd like to leave people laughing through their tears.