My father passed away a month ago. In his eulogy, I wrote, "it's ironic that the man with a beautiful, limitless heart battled a failing heart for three decades. The magical part is that he never let the failing tissue define him. What defined him was his love and his playful, teen-age exuberance." I wonder how he would have answered had I thought to ask him the question: "What defines you?" (There are so many questions I wish I had asked him.)