I was the only one in the room with my Father when he died, and it was exactly the same; he just wouldn't stop living. He'd been in a coma all day, and I'd sat with him, occasionally nodding into sleep. A few hours before he died, he raised his hand and gave me a thumbs-up sign. The doctors had to stop his heart to let him go, and that was a relief for both of us, as at last he could rest.
My earliest memories are sitting and listening to the legendary (Cassius Clay) fights on the radio, and it was also these rare occasion that my dad would sit with me; maybe because we only had one radio! Boy did he love those fights, he would punch the air as he listened and even smile sometimes. It was great to have that in common and to share rare moments that seemed to melt the ice that was always there.
I feel very sad at the passing of Mohammad Ali, a link to my childhood never to be forgotten. Wish I could travel back in time and listen to that radio again.