Life is like a river, a whirlpool is formed, another smooths flat, and we feel the rift of both. We know death's guarantee, but when the payment comes due we find ourselves surprised. Especially when he was so young, when he had fought so hard. He wasn't asking for much, was he? To see his wife grow wrinkles like smiles, to witness his daughter grow in grace, to play catch with his grandchild. Yet it was not to be, death had the last word, and there's nothing we can do about it except allow his memory to be a catalyst for appreciation, to utilize it as a sword to slay doubt and machete excuses and just get down to the nitty of the gritty called living. We can remember and we can grieve and be thankful for the time his presence graced his loved ones and to honor his struggle by dropping the illusions that our lives need to be any different than they are. Alfonso, you were well-loved and you will be missed. And you will never be forgotten.