HPL died on this day 87 years ago.

Murray: What year was this?

Brobst: This was about February 1937. He died on the 17th [i.e. 15th] of March, 1937. Anyway, the doctor had given him some medicine that was an iron compound, because he was somewhat anemic. But his condition gradually deteriorated. I remember that Mrs. Gamwell had told me he had been admitted to the Jane Brown hospital; so the very next day my wife and I went over to see him. And there he was, like a cadaver; the sheets were over him, of course. [...] He seemed to react; he didn’t seem to be cheerful, but he didn’t seem to be sad. He seemed—well, not too responsive, but I didn’t notice any depression or any fear or anything of that kind. I asked him how he felt, and, well, he said: “The pain is unbearable.” I presumed they were giving him medication for it, but in those days they didn’t quite use the drugs they do today, and he may have been under morphia and still had pain. But anyway, he had great pain in his abdominal region. Well, we talked for a little while, and I saw it was kind of hard on him to carry on much of a conversation. I told him to remember the ancient philosophers, and then he shook his head and smiled vigorously—that was the only reaction I got. Then we departed, and that was the last time I saw him.

Then early next morning I went by the home on College, and Mrs. Gamwell was upstairs. I said I wanted to come by and inquire about Howard (I always called him Lovecraft, I never called him by his first name)—I asked about Howard Lovecraft, and she said, “He died this morning at 2 o’clock.” Well, anyway, services were held for him at a church—it seemed to be the Baptist Church, but I’ve just forgotten.

(“An interview with Harry Brobst” in: The H. P. Lovecraft Centennial Conference And Proceedings. Ed. by S.T. Joshi. Necronomicon Press, 1991. 23)

The end of his life was torturous: cancer is a merciless beast. And yet again, I want to repeat: I wish there was a chance to persuade him at that moment that his literary legacy will be loved and treasured; I can’t. What I can do, however, is to continue to read his works, to think about them and to discuss the world Lovecraft had created with those who appreciate and cherish it just like I do. He is Providence and will remain it forever.