My dad loved to cook. This was a passion that began relatively late in his life after the kids had moved out. With an empty nest, my parents were able to live a slower-paced life and my dad began to dabble in cooking. He soon found that he loved it and that my mother was only too happy to pass the torch. He loved to freestyle and experiment, to forsake recipes to just see where his taste buds would lead him. It is one of the tragedies of his sudden and unexpected death that he had just treated himself to a new high-end range when he died. Never once did he get to cook upon it. Never once did he get to enjoy it. When I visited my parents’ home after he died, the range was resting in its place in the kitchen, but with the packaging still around it. He had never even opened it.
My son was in love. He had gotten engaged to a lovely young lady and together they had begun to plan their wedding. They had settled on a date and a guest list and begun to plan their ceremony
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