A Time To Mourn And A Time To Dance

A year later, he’s stronger and healthier than ever. Our gratitude to God is quiet but immense.

Cindi Gale

It started July 21st with one of those phone calls everyone fears.

“Get here now.” I’d never heard her sound like that before.

I knew who it was about without being told, and said only, “What? Where?”

“Get here now. The hospital,” and then a disconnect.

I was on the road within seconds, a drive that took under an hour. Entering the ER, without introduction I was spotted by receptionists and waved through double doors. There was only one room where activity spilled into the hall: at the end, on the left.

When I reached it, I saw the room was crowded with doctors and nurses at work. I still noticed details then (later, I wouldn’t, as shock set in): they were a perfect team, wasting no words, each adept in their role. When someone stepped aside, my first sight of him prepared me for his death like no explanation could — he…

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