You'd have been 74 today. Your sons still think of you every moment, so I'm taking a second to write this quiet tribute to you.
I'm about halfway through a hike across your home country. It's more beautiful than I imagined. There have been some difficult moments during this trip, but it's been mostly positive, mostly educational. I've met plenty of cross-country bikers, but as of yet, no cross-country hikers. This doesn't mean they aren't out there, but I'm guessing they're a rare breed. I hope that makes you proud, for I now stand among them.
I still see news, now and again, about innovative brain-cancer treatments. I wonder what it would have been like if those treatments had been available in 2009. I suspect they would have done little more than prolong the inevitable; there is, as yet, no cure for glioblastoma. But there's always hope for future patients. We can't give up hope.
I'll be thinking of you when I reach the end of this walk and touch the water that leads out to the ocean, the same ocean that connects the land of your birth with the land of your death. My brothers and I hold you in our memory, and we all wish you a happy birthday.
Your loving son,
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