I met Ken in 1980 in Tempe Arizona (he's 58 now). We were going to ASU and lived in the same building. We became friends, and continued that friendship long after college. I was in his wedding, he was in mine. We’d visit each other, ride motorcycles together the normal stuff you do with lifelong friends. I ended up in So Cal, he ended up in the Bay Area. Eight years ago he started to no longer returning my calls. If I went to the Bay Area he'd have some lame reason why he couldn’t meet me. If he came to So Cal, I'd hear about it after he left. If you call someone eight or ten times and get no answer, there’s your answer. I told my wife, when he has time for me, he’ll call me. I hadn’t heard from him in eight years. His brother texted me on Monday. Ken's 100% disabled and needs 24/7 care. He can't walk, feed himself, clean himself, or do anything for himself. He was fine until about 18 months ago, when he had prostate surgery. Then a heart attack, then another where his brain went 15 minutes without oxygen. Then he was in a coma for six weeks, then pneumonia, then kidney failure... I of course knew none of this. The reason his brother texted me is Ken started asking for me by name about two weeks ago. I told his brother we made some pact when we were kids that if either one of us was like this, the other would put a gun in his hand, and leave the room. He said his brother has told him he doesn't want to live like this, and has pulled out his feeding tube multiple times. The doctors removed it on Friday. At this point he's in control of his own fate. Eat and drink and live, or die. I'm flying up there on Tuesday. I hope he lives that long. I'll probably never know why he stopped calling me back. Crazy story, right?