This is a sad, sad recitation of a man who lived to work rather than worked to live. The following was the saddest to me:

"Peter battled his own brand of melancholy, something I found attractive in a tragically poetic, still-waters-run-deep kind of way. He used to tell me he wasn’t someone who ever really felt happy. He had moments of being “not unhappy,” he said, but his emotional range was narrow.

When something great happened, he didn’t jump for joy. When something sad happened, he didn’t break down and cry. The only times I ever saw tears in his eyes were in the hospital, right after each of our children was born."

For all he did, for all he gave, he never allowed himself to just breathe. Sadly, he missed so much in life including what life is all about.