My friend Bill Lavicka died Wednesday, at 67. He wasn't the happiest guy I ever knew—maybe he was one of the saddest and angriest—but he was lucky nevertheless, because he spent his whole life building things, rebuilding things, restoring things, fixing things. So his days went by fast and his life went by quick.
After the cancer diagnosis, he compiled a picture book full of everything he'd built.
"I finished it too quick," he told me the last time we talked. "I've got nothing to do."
An entirely unfamiliar feeling for him. And one he didn't have to endure for long, mercifully.