Even as I did, I asked God if He would let Carol have at least one more
parade with us.
Seven months later, our family had just returned from a trip out of the
country. I was with my son Richard when we got the news Carol had gone
back into the hospital for another operation. We jumped in the car and
hurried to be with her. We moved quickly down the hall and turned into
Carol’s room just as the doctor was leaving. A somber stillness filled the
room as we entered. Carol was propped up in her bed by pillows. Her
head was leaned back toward the ceiling. Her eyes were closed, and her
hands were folded. The doctor had just told Carol she was going to die.
We sat on the bed together, had a good cry, and then we talked about
balloons and parades and eternity and Jesus.
Carol came home to the house across the street from us to spend her
last days among her friends and neighbors. She had no appetite as her
body began shutting down. We were constantly trying to coax her into
eating something. Every now and then she would get a bizarre craving for
a specific type of food. One day she told me she was itching for a
particular kind of hot dog. She went into remarkable detail with me about
the width and length and the color of them.
This company must only make about four or five hot dogs a year,
because I went to a dozen grocery stores and delis looking for Carol’s
brand of hot dog with no luck. Eventually, I found a small package. I felt
like I had found Jimmy Hoffa. “Yes!” I shouted out from aisle three at
the grocery store as I grabbed the package and threw my arms up over my
head. I almost spiked them like a football in the end zone but caught
myself.
I raced back to Carol’s house and opened the package of hot dogs with
a reverence reserved for the ark of the covenant. I told Carol I’d bagged
the exact one she was craving. Carol told me she wanted to see the
wrapper. Even in her weakened condition she wanted to make sure we
hadn’t gone Oscar Mayer on her.
Carol couldn’t eat much more than a teaspoonful of food at any time.
avery
(avery)
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