“The maker of the stars would rather die for you than live without you. And that is a fact. So if you need to brag, brag about that,” wrote American author and minister, Max Lucado.
My 95-year-old father, Volker, had just moved to Minnesota with my sister, Joan Beth. He had survived Nazis and Russian invaders at the end of WWII. He did not survive a medical emergency on Saturday.
Dad had related his life story on WCCO Radio. In spite of terrifying ordeals, he made his way to America. He had won the Lotto!
I will miss his relentless optimism.
I see more sweaty days ahead: low 90s by late week, another run of 90s in mid-August. The leading edge of this “heat dome” sparks spotty thunderstorms, but most of the time will be dry. And sticky.
Oh, as my father lay dying, struggling to breathe, he stared up at the same spot on the ceiling, which calmed him. He seemed transfixed. I can’t prove it (yet), but I’m convinced he was getting a glimpse of wonders to come.
I wish you could have met Volker. Hug your father for me.
