...and I won't be able to go to my best friend's fathers' funeral tomorrow, but I'll be able to go the little private ceremony, where his ashes gets spread on the sea.
Glennie died on thursday night last week, he was 92 years old and a former police officer, who just barely avoided getting sent off to the KZ-camp Buchenwald during WW2, when the german occupying forces rounded up the danish police and sent them off.
Glennie accidentally got delayed when he was supposed to meet in, got warned by the neighbours to the police station that the germans was up to something, and he promptly escaped, going underground and joined the danish resistance fighters.
After the war he settled down, and later had a family, of which his daughter became my best friend.
Whenever I called her, he always wanted to hear how I was - and the other way around of course, and when I visited her, she, her father and I had one helluva great time together.
He was a really cool, tough old guy with a wonderful sense of humour - a cop of the old school - and I loved him.
So yes, it sucks that I won't be able to go to his funeral tomorrow, but at least I'll be there for his final ceremony, and
that feels damned good.