I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for my husband's roommies from university. Those boys - the 32 High Street boys - are among the most wonderful group of guys I've ever met. They're fun, easy-going, and were a big part of mine and my husband's lives back in the golden days of uni.
When I saw one of those boys yesterday, I was pretty conflicted. His father had suddenly passed away 3 days earlier, which meant we were seeing him at the visitation.
His Dad was a young (63), fit, healthy guy who was extremely close to his family. He had spent that day working, relaxing, going for a short workout on the treadmill... feeling fine. Just like any other day. When he went to bed that night, he couldn't really get comfortable, so he told his wife he'd sleep on the couch so that he wouldn't keep her awake.
The next morning, she went downstairs at 7am and he was dead.
Gone. Just like that.
As my husband, another friend and I tearfully hugged our old university roommie, he grabbed onto my shoulders and leaned in, making certain he was making eye contact with me.
"Hug your Dad the next time you see him. Okay?"
I will. I promise.