My father died at 48, of cancer. When he went, he was emaciated but not ravaged. At the open-casket visitation, they did a good job making him presentatble, but he was clearly what he had been in the last year of his life, rather than what he had been while healthy. Well, so be it. There’s only so much you can do.
The one complaint I had was that he was wearing a cap, which he had only started affecting when the chemo kicked in. It would have been more “him” if he had been bare-headed, even if he had less hair than most would remember him having.
Personally, I’m going with my hat. It’s part of “who I am.”
May 3, 2017