Number 1- third act

The old man's eyes were so tired. I knew on the spot that it would be our last meeting. He just seemed worn out. It was a hard day.

He had gone hunting that morning, and shot his final deer. From the truck. Not strictly legal, despite the tag. But I seriously doubt any but the most asshole game warden would ticket a 91 year old man with a walker who could still shoot straight, if not walk upright without assistance.

A couple of days before he died, he was in the shop at his house. His son asked him what he was doing at the bandsaw. "making this." was the reply. It was a wood panel to attach to his walker. So that he could put his concealed weapon behind it. Because he still carried the permit.

The end occurred gently, with his sons in the next room. So he wasn't alone. It was hard, but not scary. Difficult, but not tragic. Gently. Just a light snuffing out of the candle. Smoke rising slowly from the wick to the ceiling.

Cue the curtain.