This has been an awful week, both in football and real life.
After Man City handed us our asses last weekend, I hoped that United would be able to bounce back. Seeing our game against Liverpool brought my spirits back up somewhat; watching our performance, at home, against West Brom was nothing short of disappointing. I'm not out for Moyes Blood yet; it's still early days, plus I didn't expect that it waould be an easy road this year with a new manager. It's just that seeing us win would have really made me happy this weekend... since one of my brothers died this past Thursday.
He was hospitalised with meningitis a year ago, which was when they discovered an abnormality with his heart. They asked him to come back this year so they could operate on it, which was when they found the condition of his heart had deteriorated. Only one of his ventricles was pumping blood, and was overworked because of it; the other one was severely deteriorated, and they had to give him medication and keep him hospitalised until he was well enough to operate.
The operation was successful, or so we all thought. I saw him for the last time when he was leaving the hospital, smiling and talking to his wife and stepson. I left him with a promise to visit him at home to check up on him... a promise which, due to work, I wasn't able to fulfill. He went back to the hospital last Sunday; his heart gave out early Thursday. I heard he was in the hospital on Wednesday; my plan was to go see him on Friday.
Life is a cruel mistress.
