On Monday I held him up in bed and hugged him close. He whispered, "Remember me...... Remember me."
That was the last time he spoke to me.
Tuesday morning my mom lay with him in the hospital bed. It was devastating to see my hero struggling to breathe and unable to respond.
I sat by his side - frustrated.
"Dad", I whispered.
With my voice shaking and tears streaming down my face I asked desperately, "What is God's plan? I just want to know the plan. Are you waiting for someone to say Get Up! Be Healed! Because I know God can do it. Get up. Be healed."
I closed my eyes. "And if not, God is still good. He knows your name, Dad. He calls you friend. And we will always remember you."
The next few hours are a blur of tears, morphine, rubbing lavender and frankincense on his feet and rose oil on his heart, speaking tenderly, singing songs of love, and sitting close with family.
In the evening, everyone gathered around his bed and we watched videos of him telling Uncle Sam about hunting in Africa. We laughed when he used an Elmo doll to explain how he took a shot at a 2,000 pound buffalo.
Mary told us Dad's story about the baboons meditating under the trees before they broke out into a huge mob fight and we laughed even more.
Then we watched this video of his testimony.
I cried when I heard him say, "I don't know every detail of God's plan - and I don't need to know. I just need to know - Him."
I got the call at 1:19am. Thinking about his testimony, I couldn't help but smile and say, "Good job, Dad. You got your new washing machine."
Just a couple weeks ago, I showed Dad this picture.
I said, "I think the next time I see you, it will be like this.
You will be standing in the doorway of heaven - smiling and so happy - and you'll tell me, let's go! You're gonna love it here."
He smiled at me, looked me straight in the eye -and said with absolute conviction, "That's exactly how it's gonna be."