As my father's body finally stopped breathing I felt great relief. His suffering had ended. Unexpectedly I began to wonder if there were angels in the room. Was there, even now, a large warrior angel bending to lift my father's soul from his broken body? Did he cradle him in his strong arms as one would a child? How I longed to see the unseen! Were they flying now? Rising to heaven? Was dad actually looking into the face of Our Lord Jesus? Filled with thoughts of what my father was experiencing, I was elated, ecstatic even. My heart and footsteps were as light as if I'd been a mylar balloon filled with helium. That joy carried me through the hours and days ahead. Dutifully participating as our family wrote his obituary, chose a casket, planned a funeral, and generally attended to all the details that families must. Another chapter of my life book ended. As hard as it was to live that particular chapter, "Saying Goodbye to My Dad", I have found the next chapter much more difficult:

"Learning To Live Without Him..."