On August 03, 2010, while lying in bed nursing a 102 degree fever, I received a call that my grandfather (who was in the hospital recovering from a minor operation) had stopped breathing on two separate occasions but they were able to resuscitate him both times.

When I arrived at the hospital he was on a ventilator (tube down his throat feeding him oxygen) in addition to a myriad of other tubes and wires, and loaded with a plethora of medications—all of which were keeping him alive.

The following day tests confirmed that his condition was only growing worse and that his organs were beginning to shut down. It was unanimous: his wife and family decided that there was no need to artificially prolong the inevitable.

The day I’ve always dreaded arrived on the evening of August 04, 2010. With his family by his side, my grandfather slipped into a Christless eternity, ending his life of eighty-three years on earth.

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