His death had been expected for weeks. Just out of his teens he never complained, the girls reminisced later. The leukemic weeds in his blood starved his body of fight and life. His parents stood by his bed as he lay dying. His breathing quickened over a quarter of an hour, then slowed, became irregular and ceased. He died. Death to those inexperienced can be a little surprising in its understatement. Nothing much happens. These parents showed little shock. No hysterics. Numbed, exhausted. In the end all deaths are alike, but no stories the same.