When Papa was dying, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, the enormity of the impending loss casting long shadows over every moment, every breath, every fleeting second of his presence. My Papa, who was not just ours but everyones--gregarious, grand, and generous to a fault--was a man who never fit neatly into a singular role. He wasnt just our father; he was the father. He wasnt just my mothers husband; he was her best friend, her partner in adventure, the one who made every room brighter and every problem lighter. Papa was the life of the party, the heartbeat of every gathering, the soul who filled silence with laughter and gloom with joy. He was larger than life, a constellation of warmth and wisdom, touching lives in ways we could never fully catalog, even if we tried.