So long, Art

I wrote not long ago of a friend, seriously ill, but in recovery. Or so I wrote. And hoped. But it was not to be: he died last week. No flowers, said the obit, just donations to the Liver Foundation. Damn it, I thought you were going to make it. I thought you were going to be okay. I thought you were going to come back. But no.

None of us are getting out of here alive, though, as another friend said. It's just a question of how and when. And what you do before you go.