The father of a good friend of mine from the old neighborhood passed away a couple days ago. He was 64, a type 2 diabetic, a heavy smoker, a daily pot smoker, and he led a largely sedentary lifestyle.

He lived his life his way though, despite being fully aware of the risks.

He loved motorcycles and took numerous long trips -- crossed the country every which way with his friends and with his sons when they grew up.

He loved Mary Jane and smoked it daily. He loved his cancer sticks too. He also loved car racing, his wife, his four sons, and his four grandsons.

He also loved junk food!

He had a major heart attack and passed away though.

But everyone said the same things:
"He died at home surrounded by his loved ones, and it was fast."
"He lived life the way he wanted."
"He knew how to make himself happy."

No one seemed all that sad. No one was haunted by regrets about him.