I was making my bed yesterday and thinking about my half-sisters' uncle. He was a Vietnam veteran who struggled with drugs and alcohol after returning from war. He eventually got it together, got married, had three beautiful girls, and worked as a carpenter. The weekend of February 1st, he passed away from cancer at the age of 58. He leaves behind his wife, three daughters (the oldest is 24), mother, sisters, nieces, nephews, etc.
As I was making the bed I was thinking about his life, his journey, not his death. I kind of felt like he was listening to me and in my head I kept repeating,
"I am so sorry that you died, but I am so glad that you lived."