‘Son, come closer. There is something I have to give you. Closer still. That chair, pull it up, Son. It will seem like nothing at first but it is much, much more. There, that is better.’ These words were spoken, with considerable effort, by Howard Cromwell who laid upon his deathbed. Howard was not old but he was sick and so there was a tragic sort of cloud that hovered in the hospital room, lurking in the corners and upon the floor. It was the sort of cloud that came in without warning and sat heavy in the air. The sort of cloud that is remembered well by those who walked felt it. The sort of cloud that choked the lungs of Morey Cromwell…