Goodbye John
John, I got the news a few days ago. You had been found on your bathroom floor. I would lecture you now about how ridiculous it is to live alone, in a big house, out in the country miles away from everyone who knows you, but you would just ignore me, like you stubbornly do. You always said you would work until the day you die. I guess you got your wish, although I believe you passed prematurely. Old farts like us should strive to reach our eighth decade, at which age we can be an annoyance and burden to the younger generations, before shouting our last hurrah. Your body will no longer be failing you, your legs buckling as you attempt to walk. Stairs will no longer be a challenge, and you will no longer have to lug that cumbersome walker with you just to move about. But your sudden departure does raise some problems. Who is going to take care of that car of yours, that you invested so much of your time and money into, nurturing it like it was your child? You leave behind a hou