By Len Marshall
It had been a long time coming but no one expected Dad to survive this long.
He had spent the last few weeks in the hospital impatiently waiting for the inevitable. It was a difficult time but also a blessing.
Dad wasn’t afraid of death. On the contrary, at this point, he was more afraid of life. He knew, with total confidence, that across the threshold was his glorious and eternal home in heaven. He was so close he could practically taste it.
Well, on that morning, Paula and I arrived back at the hospital with coffee and breakfast in tow. We chatted with the nursing staff on duty, caught up with Mom on how the night had gone, and gobbled down our food. Then, almost spontaneously, we each pulled up chairs around Dad, told him we were all there with him, put our hands on him, and just sat together in silence.
I’m sure we knew on some spiritual level that it was his time to go. So when his breathing slowed to one final cadence, we all collectively breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that Dad’s suffering was finally over and that he was finally whole again in the presence of God Almighty.
There were tears, but not those of anguish and despair. I miss him already, but I’m comforted knowing that I will, one day, see him again, and he will have so many more things to share.