I've been watching CNN most of the day, and the world doesn't seem to be coming to an end.

But other things are.

A peaceful passing is what most hope for, and in that my father has been very fortunate. The past two weeks have been a slow fading, a quiet draining away of energy. Painless--or so he always insisted while he was able. He never complained of discomfort or unpleasantness, though there were standing orders that he was to receive any pain meds he wanted.

And now at the end, he just sleeps, breaths becoming slowly shallower, until that last one when the shell is too tired to take another breath.

My father spent forty years in the space program. He was there from the very beginning--when it was just missiles exploding on test stands--and stayed well after the tragedy of Challenger, long into the period where a shuttle launch ceased to be front page news. He helped create fact from science fiction.

And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

I love you, Dad.

I will miss you.