I haven’t written anything lately because this is, by far, the hardest post i ever made.

But ”To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die“. And i owe this to him.

Styx passed away on the 12th of October 2008.

After a very hard week for everyone (specially to him, obviously), i had to see dreadful things. He lost weight, he had to be hand-fed, he was sad.

Everytime anyone touched it, it was to do something he wasn’t confortable with, so he started reacting badly to our touch. But i think he knows we loved him, we meant him no harm.

It was just hard. And painful. He had to take IVs, and i completely know how those hurt.

After i woke up on the 12th, he spent a great deal of time (considering he never did that before) just lying, at my feet.

I’m pretty sure he knew of what was going to happen next.

His last minutes reached a suffering that i never wanted to see. He could not walk straight, and he was in pain.

I will forever keep those moments in my mind. As painful as they are, i do not think that forgetting them would be fair to who suffered.

It will be a constant reminder of how frelled up life and death are. A reminder of volatility.

The pain is still very present, and i’m finding words hard to type. I’ll just leave some pictures of his last days. The pictures might not be good, but they are memories to be respected.

Esta noite atravessava uma floresta a sonhar

Ela estava cheia de horror. Seguindo a cartilha

Os olhos vazios, que nenhum olhar compreende

Os bichos erguiam-se entre árvore e árvore

Esculpidos em pedra pelo gelo. Da linha de abetos,

Ao meu encontro, através da neve

Vinha estalando, isto um sonho ou são os meus olhos que a vêem,

Uma criança de armadura, coira a e viseira

A lança no braço. Cuja ponta faísca

No negro dos abetos, que bebe o sol

O último vestígio do dia - uma seta de ouro

Atrás da floresta do sonho, que me faz sinal de morrer

E num piscar de olho, entre choque e dor,

O meu rosto olhou-me: a criança era eu.