He was desperate to live. He knew there was another miracle called Mike. 

He’d claimed one in 2011, when a doctor suggested he get his affairs in order after examining a lump in his throat. The biopsy argued benign.

His diagnosis in 2019 of esophageal cancer started a roller-coaster ride of cures and recurrences, treatments and side effects, hopes and prayers and prayers.

In the end, he had to be convinced that home hospice would help. And that a bed in a hospice house would help more.

Bless those hospice angels, who convinced him to let go when I couldn’t.