I've noticed lately that the funerals I attend have changed. It used to be that friends of my parents were passing away. Such is the case with my Uncle Dick, who passed away last week. He was my dad's younger brother. That generation of Homan siblings has gone from four down to one. We are driving to Nebraska to attend his funeral on Monday. I have many fond memories of him, as his family had a cabin on the Platte River very close to our cabin. I mostly remember him laughing. He had a great laugh, and very kind eyes. But gradually these types of funerals have been replaced with funerals for friends and people my age. Such is the case with the wife of a Xavier colleague who passed away last week. She was one of the kindest people I know, and her passing after a long battle with cancer seems pointless. Next week Therese will be attending the funeral of a Lusher Middle School student, someone she used to teach just a few short years ago. That just makes me angry. At the age of 43, I am now entering the age at which people stop saying "He died way too young" and entering the realm of "He led a full life." Like King Gilgamesh realized 5,000 years before me, death sure sucks.