As I listened to the ominous sounds over the phone, coming from the ICU room where my father lay dying, I really believed that this was the hardest part. I’d been preparing my mind and heart for this day for months. We had first found out that my father had esophageal cancer just nine months ago. It had been a whirlwind of chemotherapy sessions, hospital admissions, doctor visits, and heartache ever since. We knew the inevitable was about to be on us. We knew that his cancer was about to win and take him away, our loving father and grandfather.
We knew he was dying. We were preparing to lay his cancer-ridden body to rest for the last time.
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I wasn’t close when the nurse told me that he was gone over the phone. I was almost 2,000 miles away when she called. But I breathed a small sigh of relief that my father wasn’t in pain anymore. He was finally at peace.
