I've been assuming that we have this right to a "long" life - that is, 80 years or so. Everyone deserves that and anything shorter is an injustice; the person has been cheated.
Why do I have this righteous attitude though? Nothing is guaranteed! Every year of life is a gift.
Life is finite - in that lies how meaningful it is. If life were eternal, we'd certainly take it for granted. In the unpredictability of the length of our lives there's a certain ... power I guess. This isn't really what I'm trying to say. I want to flip my perspective from "he was taken from us too soon" to "we had 44 wonderful years - a 44-year-long gift, really." Drastic paradigm shift.
I'd like to rework this into something more uh, cohesive. But all the sentiments are there: I don't feel cheated. I feel lucky, I feel grateful.
At the same time, that doesn't stop me from missing him incredibly.
