Wine Enthusiast
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In 2007, my father dropped dead while standing in a lift line at a ski resort. I heard a similar refrain from a lot of well-intentioned people, “At least he died doing something he loved.” Which was no consolation to me because, well, dead is dead.
I was upset and cynical, mostly because my dad had just
retired and looked forward to years of travel with my mother. She posed a question: Would I travel with her instead?
I said yes, though we weren’t close at the time.