My dad had a life insurance policy. He paid the premium, every pay period. I’m sure he paid more over time than the policy was worth. Actually it’s the same policy I have. I remember when he filled out the “beneficiaries” form, him saying 90% would go to my mom and 10% to me. We joked about it. At the time his death was probably 20 years away. I never thought this day would actually come. A few months ago, my mom and I received letters saying we were his beneficiaries. And we had to fill out a form and mail it back to cash the policy in. My mom did it, and got her check. I just couldn’t. let the envelope sit, and sit, and sit. Finally I opened it. The letter began “we are sorry for your loss”–and somehow, curiously, that little touch of humanity made me feel so much better. I filled the form out today. I still have to mail it. It all made me very sad. I still remember like yesterday us joking about the 90% and 10%. I don’t want any money. I just want to see my dad with his grandbabies. Yesterday was the third anniversary of my great-uncle’s death. He lived to be 93 and met his great grandchildren. My family’s WhatsApp group is blowing up with tributes, etc. I wonder what it would have been like to have my dad until he was 93, until I was older myself. My boss’s dad died a couple of weeks ago. She’s my age. It really brought back a lot of bad memories. He had a nice death though; he never suffered with dementia or indignities or the loss of independence, and it was over in an instant. After seeing my dad I didn’t think a “good” death was possible. I wish he had one, but I guess death is as random and often as unfair as life is.