“It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart” (Ecclesiastes 7:2).
My father died recently.
He was always sharp, quick with a pun or a play on words, an accountant by trade who worked until he was seventy-seven years old. He was a student of the Bible for almost sixty years. He did a lot of reading, writing, and “sparring” (personal debating) over the years, quoting folks like Barnhouse and Spurgeon in the process. But dementia overtook him these last few years. He could no longer turn on a radio, or a television, or dial a phone. He struggled to put sentences together. In the last six months or so, he struggled to dress himself; he showered with his clothes on; he tried to wash his hands in a public restroom urinal. The disease had taken so much of him away.