Mr Birks has gone.
I didn't really want to write this post and have been putting it off for ages but I feel I must finish our cancer story which ends pretty much in the way you'd expect. Mr Birks has gone. 'Gone' is a pretty rubbish way to put it considering my last post which mentioned the language of cancer but there's no easy way to say that someone has died. 6 months after diagnosis and 6 weeks after writing my previous blog post, Jonathan Birks, the funniest man in the world, died in the Tapping House Hospice, Norfolk. We never did get our pain free time in the end. Although Jon always claimed it was more discomfort than pain, he wasn't able to sit properly or sleep or eat, it completely restricted his life and took the joy out of everything. He went from being relatively mobile to unable to get out of bed by himself very quickly and his final deterioration was shockingly quick. If you've never seen death close up, like I hadn't, every little change comes as a