In June of 1997, my Dad was in failing health. He and my Mother had been staying at my house because their home had been flooded. In his last days, he was in a hospital type setting. I was able to visit often, but the night he died, I hadn't been there. . .I'd been at an awards banquet for the Bar Association.

At 2 a.m., a nurse called and said Dad had died. I couldn't quite take it in. She was a kind and wonderful person. She said we don't really know when the spirit leaves the body, and she'd go tell him I was on the way. I got my Mother up and we went to the hospital to say good-bye.

Later, I was home on the couch crying and I said, out loud, "I wanted to be there holding your hand." Dad replied, "You were." It was real.

I've felt differently about death since then. I don't think it happens at a moment in time. I think it's a process -- sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Dad told me he wasn't afraid to die. I'm at peace with his death.

Gail