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  • On February 21, 2010 we brought Frank home for hospice. I had set up the living room with a hospital bed, a phone, chairs for visitors and the blinds were wide-open every day for his precious sunshine. Oh, how he lived for sunshine.

    On February 23, 2010 a massage therapist came over to help him relax, help his aching and dying body feel even just a little better. I went into the kitchen to give them privacy, yet remain close enough in case he needed me. As she begins to massage his neck he emits a bit of a groan. She asks him if he is okay, he whispers, "yes." She asks him if he would like to talk about it. He answers very clearly - "Everything is going to be okay." From the kitchen I heard that and had to choke back a cry as I knew he was referring to me.

    Five days later he passed, with just the two of us in the living room. I watched and heard him take two breaths, then he was gone. I leaned over him, gave him a kiss, then pulled the covers up to his chin. I spent the next 30 minutes just holding his hand and staring at him, willing him to be his normal, live self but knowing he was finally out of pain and in peace. Then I tearfully picked up the phone and began making the calls.
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