The fact that he's not here for this not only saddens me, but routinely infuriates me. Carl seemed to think that, since he was heavy, he would just die, and seemed content in that. Frequently he would tell me, "Well it's okay. When I die, you get my life insurance money," as though somehow that would make the pain and depression of the last eight months magically vanish.
His death seemed so pointless. It didn't need to end this way, at all, and the fact that it did has me frequently looking back at all the times where Carl disregarded his own health. When he became insulin dependent, he at one point just stopped taking it because it was "inconvenient." He developed a very sedentary lifestyle, to the point that walking around at a comic convention caused him pain afterwords. Yet, any attempt to change things or improve things would be met with ambivalence at best and disdain at worst.
I wish I understood why Carl didn't love himself enough to just care about his body, and that is perhaps the worst part of losing him.