Fourteen years ago today (by the date) this was the worst moment of my life. I walked into my parents bedroom, as normal before going to work, and she said to me ‘did you hear the phone in the night?`, it was to say that my Dad had died. I`d know he was very ill and was incurable. I`d been to see him in the hospital the previous evening, it was heartbreaking to see him. When I got home I prayed “Please Lord take him, don`t let him suffer any longer”.
My first feelings were a mixture of great sadness yet thankful for the answer to prayer and that he wasn`t suffering. Since then, though, I`ve felt so guilty that I did pray that, that maybe if I hadn`t……. Yet, realistically I know that he wouldn`t still be here. But I can`t help wondering.
I do take a little comfort from knowing that the last person my Dad saw (apart from the nurses) would have been me. But the deep question still burns, did he know how much I loved him.
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