Dad had fallen asleep. It was after visiting hours, but the staff had been more than accommodating. One of Dad’s nurses had come in wearing little green lighted antennas bouncing playfully above each ear. Saint Patrick’s Day was approaching. “We love your Dad,” she offered. “We aren’t accustomed to allowing ourselves to get too close to our patients, but your Dad’s an exception. He’s in pretty tough shape, but he never fails to brighten the day for everyone else around here. We’re thinking about moving him soon to a new facility on the second floor…but. Well, will you be up in the morning?”
“Yes, I’ll be here as early as I can.”
“Don’t come too early. He needs his rest. He’s had some pretty serious bleeding lately.”
“Yes, I know, but he keeps telling me that he’s OK, that he’s getting better. We’ve been praying together and reading some of his favorite Psalms.”
“I know. We all know. We’ve been listening. Your Dad’s had one of us roll him down to the cafeteria every evening to talk with his war buddies. A couple of them don’t have too long. He and one of the older guys have a cup of coffee together every day, and trade stories.”
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