Years ago, I decided that the last taste I wanted in my mouth before “passing on” would be the heavenly taste of this awesome dessert. After all, if you’re dying anyway, it’s no time to be counting calories or worrying about your waistline.

Conversely, if I never again tasted white chocolate raspberry cheesecake, there was a pretty good chance I would live forever. At least that was my theory.

Three years ago tomorrow, a good friend of mine passed on. Officially, he died of brain cancer, but he never knew his diagnosis. He had a severe headache for three weeks. He went to the hospital. They ran some tests. There was swelling in his brain, and a portion of his skull was removed to alleviate the pressure.

The last week of his life was spent on a respirator in a medically induced coma. The time came for the family, fully informed by a plethora of doctors, to make a decision. They discontinued my friend’s life support. A little over 12 hours later he quietly left us.

And today, a full three years down the road, I still haven’t exactly come to terms with the concept of “death.” I’m still experiencing random bouts of grief and anger and still stymied by unanswerable questions, most of them starting with “why.” He was such a great person; why him?

So I hope wherever my friend’s spirit now resides, that he is a peace. And I hope, somehow, someway, he remembers the last thing he ate, the last thing he said, the last thing he did, with genuine fondness.

As I shall always remember him.

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