"I'm dying", he said, in response to my, "I'm O.K. How are you", telephone banter that we had seemed to settled into over years. And in that brief moment . . . In the seconds it took for those two words to reach my mind; I felt the very essence of my being leave me in a single breathe, my heart ached like that of one losing one's "first love", and I realized that my life would never be the same again.

There is nothing that can prepare you to hear those two words . . . Nothing. There is also nothing that can stop the pain and sense of loss. "I thought I had more time", was all that ran through my mind. I believe I even uttered those words to my father. However, I really can't be sure, because it was as if something inside me had died and I went into an "auto pilot" state-of-mind.

I remember my Father saying he was "sure", "there's no mistake". He said that he had lung cancer and that there was "nothing else they can do for me." He had been diagnosed in December 2007. He hadn't wanted to worry me, so he just didn't say anything until now. He was home under hospice care. He may have six months, maybe more, maybe less. He asked me if I would make the calls to my brother and sister, "You'ld know who to call", he said.

He must have realized the state that I was in. It will go down as one of the few times in my life that he has known me to have so very little to say. I couldn't think. I couldn't feel anything but anguish. The tears would not stop falling from my eyes and my poor husband sat by waiting, knowing it was bad, and trying to console with his eyes. I told my Father I would make the calls. "I love you", I said. "I love you too", he replied.

I hung up the phone. I picked up a matchbook that was on my nightstand from lighting a candle earlier. "Do you have a pen?" I asked my husband. He handed me a pen and I wrote, I guess so I would never forget: February 28, 2008 . . . 7:10pm . . . Dad.

Then I just collapsed into my husbands arms . . . Seeking some sort of protection from the onslaught of emotions that came flooding in. He just held onto me tight and let me fall apart. He stayed right by my side, holding my hand, as I drew from his strength while I made the calls that needed to be made. After I hung up from the last call, again I broke down. The news and all that it had meant came upon with it's full force. "I am going to lose my father! But I'm not ready to lose him yet . . . Dear God not yet," was all I kept repeating as my husband held me close.

Sometime in the late hours I simply passed out. I hadn't cried myself to sleep like that since I was a child. But when I awoke, before my eyes even opened up to the morning light . . . The tears continued to fall.