BOB HICKSON, my husband’s charming uncle from Dirranbandi, Queensland, almost made it to 90 years of age. A couple of weeks before he died, his daughter observed, “Dad, what’s going on? You’re sleeping a lot.”
“I’m just practising being dead,” said Bob, his blue eyes twinkling.
A bit later in hospital, his son apologised to him for not being able to keep him at home. “Sorry Dad, we didn’t plan it like this.” Bob reassured his son, saying softly, “Oh, it’s not so bad.”
And then, just before he died, he whispered “thank you” to the nurse, gently saluting him from his bed. The next time the nurse came into his room, Bob was dead.
Bob Hickson died with humour, resilience and gratitude. I imagine it takes a lot of…
