A male relative died last week after a short illness. I don't know what will appear in his obituary but I doubt it will capture his personality and what the loss means.
His adult children will miss the comforting, steadfast presence of their father. His friends will miss his company, his laughter and stories. His acquaintances in town will note the passing of another oldtimer who craftily survived horrific times when so many young men didn't, and managed to live life fully, graciously and responsibly in subsequent years, when many survivors couldn't.
I wasn't close to him, but feel sadder with each passing day because of lost stories, lost opportunities of a generational connection, lost bits of heritage. How long before his stories are lost forever? Or my mother's? Or mine?