My Pops was 82 and retired to Mountain Home, Arkansas. Calls me up and asks if I'm gonna visit them that summer, and I said, yeah, of course. Tells me I best to do it quick. Guy was 6'4, 250 pounds up into his sixties when the cancer hit, but by then, he was down to maybe 140, 160. Had "beat" the cancer, but had emphesyma.
My youngest son had just been born, he was like a month old, but we made plans and drove down-ten hour drive with four kids, including an infant. Fun.
Got there, everyone does the reunion trip with my 'rents, and my Pops, he sits in his rocking chair holding my month-old son, the one named after me. Sits with him for maybe an hour, we have a bite of lunch and a beer, and he sez "I don't feel so good, I'm gonna take a nap".
Went to sleep and died within the hour.
He was just waiting to meet the boy and to say goodbye to everyone-tough old fucker.
Maintain.