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No one knows how much time is ever left

Right now, Gord Downie is leading The Tragically Hip through the band's final concert. I'm watching it live on TV, despite never having be been a Hip fan. I certainly could have been. They're very good, but I never gave them a chance. 

"He's never going to make that tour," said Amanda when she found out, along with the rest of Canada, that Downie had brain cancer. 

She wasn't talking out of her ass with the comment. Her dad, Gary, died of the same kind of tumour. A GBM, glioblastoma multiforme. Amanda was as close to her dad's care as I was to hers. So, I know she learned a lot about GBMs. How they grew, how they were treated, and how fast they killed. 

"He's not going to survive that long," she figured, but she gave Gord a ton of credit for planning one last tour given what he was facing. 

Amanda died. Gord went on tour. He's performing like a pro. Sure, he has teleprompters all over the stage showing him the lyrics, but Elton John did, too, 20 years ago, and Sir Elton didn't have a tumor reaching its malignant tentacles throughout his brain. 

She died and he's doing a great show. 

She thought she'd outlive him. No question in her mind. And given the info we had at the time, I would've agreed with her. 

She would have watched this show with me. She would be watching the Olympics, too. 

I've been doing pretty well most of the time lately, but I miss her tonight. 

Never assume you know how your life or someone else's will play out. Even when you know what you know, and know what you don't know, it's the stuff you don't know that you don't know that will catch you by surprise. 


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