My grandparents have some very old, very dear friends. (Old in both senses, I'm afraid: long-term and elderly.) These people are close enough that my mom calls the male half of them Father. (She calls her own dad Dad, Daddy, Pop, or Pops, so nobody's toes are stepped on by this.)
Well, Carl ("Father") is very sick. Very, very sick. He's had some strokes. He's not doing real well. Joy (the female half) and their son John have asked my mom to come to see him and help them make decisions. She's coming up tonight and will be staying overnight with us while she sees Carl and helps them out as much as she can. Whatever that means when she gets here.
A few years back, my mom told me that we had been lucky so far to be able to keep all our many old people for as long as we had. She was right. I guess probability comes back and bites your butt sooner or later.