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My best friend died from complications from a stroke in 1993. He was also my next door neighbor. I donned the obligatory dark suit on the day we were to bury him and went out on the deck for a few minutes. I noticed a single mourning dove (they usually are a mated pair) on the peak of his roof cooing his respects. I then heard an eagle screaming out his hunting cry as he circled the neighborhood, built on Lighthorse Harry Lee's old planatation site. I wondered if my old friend was up to some shenanigans. All doubt was erased when we pulled into Quantico cemetery and the radio blared out one of his favorite songs, "Prop Me up by the Jukebox when I die."