End of Life Training for a Seventeen Year Old
/My father died when I was seventeen years old. I was young and the thought that my dad would die never entered my mind. It might not have entered his and it certainly did not enter the minds of anyone who knew him. He was healthy, handsome and hearty.
When he died of a heart attack there was shock. He was forty three years old with a wife and two children at home. He passed in the middle of the night with EMTs, blinking red lights and a neighborhood that was awakened from its slumber. Walls were punched, screams were let loose and tears flowed.
I am about to celebrate my seventieth birthday and have survived my own heart attack.
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