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Or was his good behavior since August 2008 merely a recognition that he was out of chances, that the good life of the NFL would be gone if his name appeared on a police blotter again?

“In six years of knowing each other - through hard times, good times - we loved each other very much,” the weeping fiancee said at the funeral. “People say I changed his life. No. He changed mine.”

Fair enough.

There were undoubtedly many sides to Henry, not all bad but bad enough.

That is the lesson, if one is necessary, for it was his reckless behavior that led to his life being snuffed out way too soon.

No one forced him to get into the bed of the truck, certainly not the woman looking to make a getaway, looking to find a space all to herself until she could sort out whatever it was that fueled their quarrel.

Yet Henry could not let it be.

So now he is celebrated in death far more than he was in life.

That reveals more about the living than the departed. They are left to make sense of the senseless, a useless proposition.

Henry made no sense to the end.

He is gone at 26, a life too brief, the currency that encourages the modified reflections.

He earned an accommodation after eschewing the fast life of the NFL, which is not fair to the countless professional athletes who never go there, who do not need a graduate degree in real life to know that nothing good comes from the street life.

That is the unfinished legacy of Henry.