I had never seen my father cry.

I was there with him along with Mom on that lonely July 31st night six and a half years ago when the cancer specialist came into the hospital room to give us that awful news... what Dad already knew inside. He had bone cancer. We held hands, Dad remained stoic and sad as he consoled us. He would have to remain there for a few more weeks as further tests were done, but we knew there was really no hope.

Over the next few weeks, several of us family members would visit Dad in the hospital almost daily before he went home to die. On one particular night almost half his kids and grandkids were there with him... just to be there for him. After several hours it came time for us to leave, we all hugged him good night in the visiting room and then we slowly walked away. Dad remained collected and strong, alone.

We were almost out the door of the hospital, but several of us decided to go back again, to hug him one more time. As we turned the corner into the visiting room, there Dad was, his face to the window, a kerchief in his hand. As we addressed him, he slowly turned to us, his eyes welled up with tears. He had been weeping, peering out the window, gathering it all in, his soon to be absence from all of our lives, the memories we'd never again share, his love we'd be forever without, the pain of our indelible loss. How could he but not weep? That night the weight of it all had to have hit him... he knew.

Over the next month and a half before he died, I never again saw Dad cry... he stayed content unto the end. What a gracious and accepting soul, he was so loved.

When Dad was in the hospital shortly before his death, he often told me that he sure appreciated me being there for him all the time he was in the hospital. At times during his illness he told me that I was "the best wife a man could ever have." It's a lasting impression I hold in my heart about your father.

It was my turn. My turn to stay up while everyone else slept. We were alternating shifts through the night; each night, making sure that if Dad needed anything that someone would be there to help during his battle. One that I'm sure he was prepared for since it was already late into the diagnosis of a cruel illness. He was always a fighter and not too easily persuaded to let go but it became very clear to me as I watched him lay there in his bed, quiet and peaceful, every so often grabbing the rail of the bed as if trying to get up and get on with things as he always did. He would struggle for a moment and then his arm would drop back to his side. Several minutes passed and as I sat there in the living room looking through to the bedroom; it was very quiet and I realized that I still had an hour left until waking up David at 4:00 am for his shift. Dad made another attempt to get up but he was too weak. My attention turned abruptly to the very distinct voices of children laughing as if playing in a playground. I thought for a moment as my mind focused on logic. I tried to convince myself that some of the grandchildren had been sleeping in the house that night but there were only adults. The children's voices left as quick as they broke through the silence of that night and I smiled without fear, a slight shiver moving down my spine, I thought to myself, " Yes, I do believe in angels." Love to everyone, Mike