Garry is survived by his wife Teresa who has a blog called NoisyRoom.net. Below are some words by noted best selling author M.A. Rothman who is a mutual friend. Some are Mike's words and some are Garry's that he expressed over his final days which he met with good humor and the strength that I hope all of have when our time comes. RIP our friend. The cut and paste from Garry's Facebook page didn't work out to well so the pic didn't come through. Garry was a computer nerd and coder and when I tried to paste Mike's words, it didn't work very well...so I had to go in and delete all the code between the sentences. Somehow I think Garry got the last laugh on me, anyway. "Social media is a strange thing that I rail against more often than not, because it's a tool for evil all too often and I truly believe it makes society worse. However... there are good things. It connects people that might not otherwise connect. Folks who share common things and get to "know" each other through the maelstrom of nonsense and crazy people. Like Garry Hamilton... he's a fellow computer nerd and gun guy, and even though we never crossed paths in the real world, we have some common roots. He exhibited to all what true bravery looks like in the face of tragedy. I'll quote some things in chronological order, to give you an idea of what I mean: The picture is from a 2007 LFI-1 gun course. Gary was diagnosed with cancer and despite a rather grim diagnosis, in social media you wouldn't have otherwise known it. He remained the same person, but didn't shy away from the realities of what he was going through. Whether it was the day-to-day dental work he was grousing about having to undergo...that was in June... ]Or in July going over his knife collection and grumbling about not having enough time in the day to keep after them, sharpening, etc. It was mid-July that the doctors finally pronounced that his case was likely terminal and they measured his date in months, no longer than that. Garry's response was, "Well, I suppose it's time to get the ducks in order for the business of death." The next day he quips the following: ]That's the average continental crust thickness, in miles, divided by the average diameter, in miles, of Earth. Take a basketball and plunge it into a tub of water. When you pull it out, a thin -- almost imperceptible -- skin of water will cover the surface of the ball. That's the approximate relationship between the Earth and its crust. Everything you can see and touch, the mountains, the seas, the forests and jungles, the swamps and deserts, fields and prairies: all of that sits on top of that thin, almost imperceptible, skin. And all of that floats on a sea of molten rock. Seems like a thing worth remembering." End of July he's at in-home hospice, the drugs start flowing. ]He says, "Yes, I'm still on my feet. I still drive. I still go shopping. More pain than I'm used to though. But the oncologists have run out of options, so, in typical "specialty medicine" fashion they've "referred me out." I'm not mad at them, but I'm not terribly fond of this risk-averse approach to medicine. They're not at all adventurous in their treatment. Second opinions. "Approved" medications and treatments. And they have a difficult time confronting the end results with their patients. That's something not well addressed in their training." "Well, I'm learning new pain configurations. Developing required coping strategies. Painkillers? Yup. Embrace the Suck. Anyone planning to visit in the next couple of months, let me suggest that sooner is better than later. Improves the odds that I will be conscious and coherent." I'm glad to say that it seems like his family rallied around and got themselves from various places to visit him. Through most of August he thanked many people for helping in the little things that he called the business of death, whether paperwork or other miscellaneous things. Most of his posts through August were short but typical: "Hmm. I seem to be dehydrated. I should do something about that. Soup. Yes. Maybe chicken broth to start with." That soup comment followed on the heels of him reporting the facts of hospice, which he felt others might find morbidly curious: "Hospice. A poor compromise between patent care and 'doing the least you can.' Pills? We gotcher pills. Pain killers? Gotcher pain killers. Assorted logistical needs? Yeah, we got those. Plenty of morphine compounds, anti nausea, anti constipation, anti diarrhea, and so on. Just don't ask them to stand an IV tree and hang IV saline for dehydration. Nope. That's "intrusive" care, so if you don't have your own source for IV fluid drops, then good luck with that. I'm sure this is part of some risk-averse treatment policies, but it definitely impacts treatment effectiveness. So I'm stuck with assumptions that things work internally well enough that oral fluids will be adequate. We're working around this. Wish me luck." Near end of August, a quip: "Incidentally, for anyone interested: I am not done yet. Therefore I will be back." ]September 7th: "Evidently I'm not dead yet." September 13th: He shared a memory from 2019 that said "Cancer markers in latest blood screen now showing less than 1.0, continuing decline." On that memory he noted: "Sigh. That didn't last." September 17th: "Checked my calendar today. Turns out I still have no time slot for reaper business." September 18th: "Shortness of breath. ]Shortness of time. may check in tomorrow." September 19th: "Still here." September 19th: "So, it's coming up on 4:30 AM on Monday. should probably catch a nap, and turn the thermostat down a notch." ]September 24th: Rest In Peace Garry.... you're a person I never met, but I will remember."