Our son’s step-son died suddenly at age 35. Of course, everyone is grieving and in shock that he could be taken at such a young age. But, such is life – and death. None of us know the time of our coming demise. That is the uncertainty of life: we never know when the last time we see someone will turn out to be the Last Time. So what does that mean to us? Should we grieve after they’re gone because of all the things we left unsaid? Or should we celebrate that we took the time to truly be with them each and every time we had the opportunity? Regret or rejoice? I can only hope, for my Last Time, that it will be rejoice.