I lost my Dad this week. At 82 years of age, he'd lived a long life pretty much on his own terms. Congestive Heart Failure kept him in and out of hospitals for the last six months, and in ICU for two weeks. It was in ICU where he realized the end was near. We had our most meaningful conversations there, in spite of his growing weakness. Lots of "Remember when" stories, a few "What if" stories, and sadly, very few words of final wishes. Fortunately, he'd mostly settled that with my stepmother. I and a few other family members were present at the moment of his passing. There is no greater closure than to be holding the hand of a loved one as the end comes, and I'm forever grateful to have been there when the end came for Dad. A few hectic days followed, mostly involving legal documents and such. Tonight, my wife, son, and I went to see a ballet and returned to find our cat of 17 years dead on his blanket. I'm one of those "pets are family to
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