This thread reminds me of the story told in recent years about the last time Ben Hogan hit a golf shot -- he took 3 golf balls and a persimmon driver to his favourite spot at Shady Oaks, teed each ball up slowly and methodically, went through his usual pre-shot routine, and hit each drive well out there and on the (preferred) right side of fairway. And then he looked out for a moment, and turned and walked away. The fellow who tells the story says that, after Mr. Hogan left, he went out to that fairway, and there they were: three golf balls, all about 250 yards out and so close together you could lay a blanket over them. Maybe because, like anyone who knows about it, I've always had a heartache imagining little Ben on the day his father committed suicide; and maybe because I imagine him years later trudging up the fairways at Carnoustie in the wind and rain and on tightly bandaged legs -- but it is very gratifying to believe/hope that Mr. Hogan found his peace, and found his closure, and was able to say an unconditional 'yes' to his life right then and there, holding a golf club that bore his name, in his home state of Texas, with three last perfect drives that he thought no one else could see, on a day that was so close to the end of all things.