Approaching my grandmother’s hospital room, I was suddenly taken by the enormity of the news about to be delivered. I have made a life of words, written and spoken, but there are no good words for what I must say.
Just arriving from a four-hour cross-country flight, I had been chosen for this task because I was a minister, because I was a writer and work with words, because, even more than my mother, this is the woman who raised me. And because, most of all, no one else wants to be the one to do this!
Entering the door of the hospital room, the smell of sickness overwhelmed my senses. The smell was familiar from my days in the ministry—the unmistakable air of every hospital room. My thoughts went back ...