My father has passed away—40 days exactly since life-saving treatment suspended and he left the hospital to decline in his home. A few minutes after 9 this morning, my sister Nan telephoned to say that he had taken a sharp turn downward and wasn’t expected the last much longer. She called again, almost exactly four hours later, to let me know he was gone.
Some weeks ago, Nan asked me to write the obituary—a task I resisted. Top reason: In this age of Artificial Intelligence scanning and rampant criminal scamming, I was reluctant to share much family information publicly. For some people, death is an opportunity to take advantage of others in their grief.