Like he stepped out of late 1800's France with a gallery and an armload of frames, Greg Brown was always an optimist. He had an easy laugh, a friendly handshake for anyone...would take them in for tea or coffee (mind the grounds) and was the very first art gallery I ever hung at.
Now he lays in a hospital bed, morphine drip, comatose, cancer of the lungs, spine, and liver.
Will he even make it through the night?
I think his spirit will, and I hope it gets good things in the next life.
Seems cancer follows me around a lot. Ma was a double cut, but she survived to full remission after some thirty five years of war with it.
Neither of my Aunts survived the Summer after finding it. My cousin's husband whittled down fast with it.
I know three people with some form of it, now, and all involved with breast cancer in some way.
And Greg Brown.
Good night, Greg. We're gonna miss you terrible.
Bear tank top...
2 years ago