Each day I look online at the local obituaries and today read the obituary of a man I went to college with while I was in grad school.  He was only 53 years old.  It was back in 1988 to 1989.  One of the most enjoyable periods in my life.  My first encounters with this man were in the hallway of our dormitory and he walked with such a scowl that any socializing was frowned away.  Anyway, I soon learned how wrong I was and what a funny, friendly, helpful, and loyal man he was.  It was a great lesson to ignore the rule of first impressions.  How wrong I was and how grateful I am that I was proven wrong. 

Over the years we lost touch and after some time I was able to locate him after his wife had passed away (I also knew her back then - she was an environmentalist liberal and he was a free will conservative).

A few months ago I spoke to him on the telephone, with hopes of an in-person meeting sometime this year.   Then, today, I read his obituary. 

This growing older shit is such a joyously and tearful dichotomy at the same goddamned time, isn't it?