I got to thinking more about Dad today while reading the book "How Lucky You Can Be" of legendary basketball coach Don Meyer. Meyer survived a horrific head-on collision with a semi trailer truck, and at one point they called in his wife while his vital signs were deteriorating. Eventually he recovered, and lives on today. How hard is it to actually be there at the moment a loved one breathes for the last time, to experience that sense of closure? Jack and I were out in the back yard raking leaves as Dad's 18-month bout with cancer concluded. We just so happened to be discussing a piece of family trivia and were sure that Mom could help break the tie. We found her in the bedroom tending to him, and realized that his journey was ending. There was no way that Mom could have left his side to come get us. Had providence brought us indoors five minutes later, we'd have missed it. Instead, I was able to hold his hand as he passed.
When October 29 arrives I remember the day but don't feel very sad - if God chooses a time, manner and place, who am I to argue? - I actually feel incredibly gifted. First, for the benefit of life through him and for nearly thirty years to learn from him. Second, for winning the remote odds of being present, considering the great randomness of death.
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