A funeral this weekend for a friend.  Eunice Dickerson and her husband, Julius, were there for us when a motorcycle accident put me in a coma in November of 2012.

We’ve lost too many good people and, sadly, just about all of them have been younger and far more deserving of life than me.  The cycle began just one month after I left the hospital when Tom Ryan died of a heart.

Lingering memory problems from injuries leave me struggling too often to remember everyone who left us over the past two years.

At 66, I’m now part of that age group that is simply “65 or older.”  I’m now closer to 70.

But the last 23 months have me wondering:  Why do we keep losing the good while myself — a reprobate with questionable people skills, documented lapses in morality and a penchant for trouble — beats the odds?

“Only the good die young,” Billy Joel sang in 1977.

He was right then.  Sadly, he’s still right now.

This weekend, I will say goodbye to a friend.

Then I will go somewhere quiet, cry, and wonder why,