My father lost his battle with cancer early on the morning of December 21, 2015. When someone dies there begins a very busy period where family and friends come together to take care of all the details associated with final arrangements as well as to figure out how everyone whose lives were closely knitted to the deceased will regroup and continue with the business of living. In a peculiar twist, a house that has just been overcome by the shadow of death overflows with life. A neighbor called in the midst of this activity. I answered the phone and was mistaken for dad. The neighbor did not know dad had died, and I did not correct her. Instead, I just listened because I could tell she was upset and needed help. The mail carrier had already been by her house and had not come up to the house to bring the mail. She had two letters she needed to mail and feared that she had missed her chance. She is legally blind, and so tries to void walking down to the street. I explained that I was not dad, but his son. However, I said that I would be glad to take her letters and see that they were mailed today. I walked down to the neighbor’s house, got the letters, found the mail carrier, and handed over the letters. You see, dad’s neighbors had gotten used to turning to him when they needed a solution. One of dad’s mantras was “be part of the solution, not part of the problem.” I was glad to help dad be part of the solution one more time.