off life-support machines. Our family felt relieved that he would
soon be coming home, and we started making plans for his
recovery.
Comforted by Dad’s prognosis, we all decided to sleep in
our own beds for the first time since arriving in Cleveland,
rather than camping out on one of the hospital couches in a
nearby waiting room. So after the rest of the family went home
for dinner, I stayed a few more hours to watch the Cleveland
Indians baseball game with my dad. A die-hard Cleveland
Indians fan that had not seen a World Championship pennant
awarded since the 1950s, he had been energized by the
Indians’ exciting season the previous year. It had revived his
hope for a victory that he had not felt for decades. Together,
we thoroughly enjoyed watching all nine innings of the away
game against the Toronto Blue Jays. And though it continued
late into the evening, Dad stayed awake and alert through
every pitch, every hit, and the eventual win. As the game
ended, I asked Dad if I could say a little prayer with him—and
as our hands met in an unexpected clasp, I asked God to take
away any fear and send angels to surround him. I kissed his
forehead, walked down the hospital corridor, and heard Dad
ask the nurse, “Did you hear that nice prayer my daughter
prayed for me?”
Our family awoke to a phone call early the next morning,
asking us to come to the hospital quickly—Dad had
experienced another severe heart attack. We threw on our
coats and rushed to the hospital. As we entered the step-down
unit, a nurse met us with the very sad news that Dad had died
in his sleep and could not be resuscitated.
We left the hospital as quickly as we had arrived, a bit