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While You Joke, I . . .

It’s been 8 years.

Eight years ago today, I woke up knowing that I would get a phone call from my father.

Part of me knew my dad wouldn’t pull such a terrible joke, but another part of me knew that it was going to happen.

My dad didn’t play a joke.  But the phone call came anyway…

I was living in Kansas at the time.  My sister called me and said that we only had about 2 more months.  I said, let me finish up the semester and I would come.

That was Saturday.

Sunday early evening my dad called and said that it was now 2 weeks.  I said that I would be there and that I wanted them to wait for me.

I buckled up my then almost 2 year old daughter and my pregnant wife, and we drove all night long.  20 hours on the road.  Non-stop.

We spent that evening at my mother’s bed side.

She hurt too much to hold her.  She hurt to much to talk.  She hurt too much to listen.  So, we just sat.

It came to me.  Her hand needs to lay on something, why not my hand.  So, I gently placed my hand under hers.

As the night went on, my father suggested that we give her a preisthood blessing.  We, my dad, my brother, my brother-in-law, and I all placed our hands on her weak head, and my father as voiced blessed her with the comfort that she sought, and request that if it be the Lord’s will that he take her quickly.

We waited.

My father asked us all to leave, and we gave her a hug (painful for her as it was).  We whispered I love you to each other, then good-bye.

I don’t remember the phone call my dad gave me, the next morning.  I just remember he said that he wished it hadn’t happen on April 1.

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