If you asked me in my old age to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I predict I’d tell you that it was the day we learned that Tom Fisch’s grandfather—Blair Murray, or “Pap,” as Tom called him—died last night in a crash of his ultralight aircraft.
What a way to go! I hope it wasn’t painful. Carla and I wondered half-seriously whether it might have been purposeful.
I don’t know whether I’d like to be killed in a dramatic accident, but I’ll certainly take the metaphor: Die doing what you love. I’ll go further: Die loving the heavens and living like it.
