My old army buddy, Scott, AKA Sarge, died a week ago. He was my roommate in Germany 43 years ago, back when it was West Germany. I believe his son had his respirator unhooked at 1 or 2 in the afternoon, but he was still on oxygen. His girlfriend called me up and said he died at 8:55 pm. I didn't get the message until Tuesday because I went to bed when it was still daylight. Scott had several problems beginning last summer. The capillaries in his hands and feet burst after the doctors took him off some of his meds, and his hands and feet turned black. He had some fingers and half a leg amputated, and half a foot when they went to cut some toes off the other foot. Then they cut half of that leg off too. They just kept whittling away at him. He seemed to be getting better and bought a left-handed guitar since he still had enough fingers to play left-handed. But he seemed to be getting better then suddenly got worse when he was at physical therapy. His girlfriend got his driver's license renewed by mail. I said something about how his height was listed on it. Did it say his height was 4'6" now? He would have laughed about that if he wasn't already in a coma and put on a respirator. Then he got a bedsore on his butt so bad the bone was exposed. Then he went septic and it was all downhill from there. They should have pulled the plug on him sooner, the doctors wanted to because he was beyond hope, but his son told his girlfriend he wanted to wait 2 more weeks. That was close to 2 months ago, but I'm not exactly sure how long it was. So now, instead of having 2 best friends, one who knew me way back when, and one who knows the person I am now, I'm down to one best friend. And not many other friends. There isn't going to be a memorial or anything. I wouldn't be able to make it if there was. It's about a 15 hour round trip and I start to cramp up after a couple hours behind the wheel.