This was a difficult weekend for me, to say the least. I was awoken Friday morning with a call from my brother. My dad had a heart attack and was currently in route to a hospital in Wichita. Dad was conscious and communicative the whole time, but that didn't make it any easier to hear or any less scary. I cancelled my workout, woke up my husband and cleared my schedule. Six long hours later I made it to my daddy's bedside.
Dad is fine. He had a stint placed in one artery and will have a second one placed in the next month. He needs to make some changes in his diet, but he is going to be fine. It was a very long Friday.
Saturday morning on our way to visit my dad in the hospital we got the news that a very good friend of the family was killed in a farming accident Friday evening. He was my dad's age, one of his dear friends. They had gone to church together for 40 years. I grew up with his daughters. This is a family we love. My heart just broke. It made it all the more clear how lucky we were to still have Dad. It doesn't always turn out that way.
I think Dad got an even bigger hug from me on Saturday then he did on Friday.
None of us our promised another day. We are told that are days are numbered. That they are known and counted out, but we are not told what that number is.
Today in Boston too many people found that to be true. We aren't promised tomorrow. None of us are.
So call your daddies and tell them you love them. Tell your mommies how much they mean to you. Play with your children and kiss them goodnight. Tell that friend how much you love them, that life wouldn't be the same with out them. Write the letter. Make the call. Say the words. They need to be said today, because we aren't promised tomorrow.
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