My precious sister-in-law’s father died yesterday. Just laid down to take a nap and passed peacefully in his sleep. She’s up in the Roughrider state with her mother as siblings and other family members gather. I was privileged to know her dad. He was a man who lived life fully and on his terms. His passing reminds me of a quote by Marcel Proust:

We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.