My dad lived another nine months. He died from complications of COPD. Had he not smoked he would have cruised easily into his eighties. He was still mentally sharp until the last month when the lack of oxygen began to get to him.
Those nine months with my dad were some of the best. We talked not only as dad and son but as men would talk. We talked about football, cars, etc. We talked about life, we talked about death. I told my dad I was as proud of him during that time as I ever was. Why? Because he handled it like the responsible man he had been teaching me to be.
I learned a lot about death that year and how we are to handle it. Why is this important? Because we have to teach the next generation that death is a part of life and we have to learn to handle it.
No guvment official should ever decide when someone should die. That includes those little ones in the womb.
I pray that when my appointed days on the earth are over and the Lord calls me home that I handle life like the man my dad taught me to be.
Bump.