Five years ago, October 1, 2016, my son woke up for the last time. I know through the accounts from his room mates and friends, the broad stokes of his last day. It was a Saturday. My son was a tennis coach. He met one of his clients at 7:30 a.m. to play tennis for two hours. It was a beautiful fall day in a beach town on east coast of Florida. My son’s passion was tennis, as was his client’s. This man shared with me that my son was in an inordinately cheerful mood that day. They left the court with the plan to meet the next morning, same time, same place, to play again. He got paid the day before. He went to the grocery store. His room mate shared that he went to bed in a great mood at 10:00 p.m. He laid out his duffel and his tennis clothes before bed, ready to jump into them early Sunday morning. He went to bed and did not awaken. I will spare all of the details but he died in his...