Today is an anniversary of sorts. Three years ago today (which would have been Feb. 2, 2001) I put Shannon on a plane to China to bring home our daughter Marlee from her orphange. That was at 5:30 AM. Seventeen hours later (about 10:45 that night) my brother Tom called to tell me that had died.



That was a long hard night for me. It was a Friday, so I was working the basketball game at Ki-Be. Eric (who was 10) spent the night at Jacob Ball's house. After I got off the phone with Tom, I said a prayer for Dad, asking Heavenly Father to bless his spirit, commending his soul back into the loving arms of the Lord. I prayed for comfort and peace to be upon Mom and my brothers and sisters. I prayed for strength to be able to deal with the challenges that I knew were ahead of me--funeral and burial preparations,dealing with my family, and helping Eric deal with the loss. Fortunately, I'd been up late the night before helping Shannon get ready for her trip; I only got about 3 hours of sleep that night, had taken Shannon to the airport, taught all day, and worked the games that night. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.



After my prayers, I went to bed, so tired that I was almost incoherent. Dad had only been dead a couple of hours. I remember thinking that, as a kid, I always drew comfort from knowing that Mom and Dad were asleep in their room, and if I needed anything all I had to do was call. Even after I left home, went to college, got married and started my own family, one of the last thoughts that tucked me in each night was the knowledge that Mom and Dad were still there, within my reach if I needed them. Now this was the first time in my life when I'd gone to bed without the security of knowing that my dad was alive. And I also knew that every night for the rest of my life, I'd sleep with that sense of loss. As I slept that night, I dreamed of a family reunion in Heaven.