I think about death, from time to time, and everything that flows from it; sadness, grief, contemplation, major and minor life changes, and life. I've known a fair amount of people who have died and, with all of them, there is a commonality: I don't like seeing them dead. As in, physically, I do not like looking at someone in a coffin, or simply looking at their coffin knowing they are in it, or standing over their grave, or next to their marker in a mausoleum. Indeed, I never go through life seriously contemplating what it would be like if someone close to me died. The only exception to this was my dad, who survived for ten months after his cancer diagnosis. With every visit, I studied him closely, silently, snatching a glance when he wasn't looking, thinking to myself: 'Right now, he's alive, with breath in his lungs and blood pulsing in his veins. His brain is functioning and alert. His voice works. I can talk with him. At some point, sooner rather than l