I just got off the phone from talking to my best friend, Patti. Patti is near my age — a few years younger – in her early fifties. We got to know each other in our church’s singles group, and have been good friends for six or seven years. We’ve seen each other through ups and downs, through various moves, various relationships, and we’ve sat together and boohooed over lost loves. Last year, though, she met Roger, and they had been together since then. I remember the first time I met Roger. All he could talk about was how wonderful and beautiful Patti is. I was so happy for her because she SO deserved having a good relationship where the guy really appreciated her. He danced, too – a definite plus in the boyfriend department. They spent this past weekend together, and last night, after watching the Titans game together at Patti’s house, Roger left to go back to his house. Patti got the call from Roger’s sister today – Roger apparently got up this morning and was eating a sandwich — and died. They don’t know if he had a heart attack or if he choked on the sandwich. Either way – he’s gone. His sister found him about six hours later.
Life is short. There are no guarantees.
Later note: The official cause of death was choking. He died eating a grilled cheese sandwich. He had knocked over a chair — apparently trying to do the self-Heimlich maneuver.