It's weird to be a grown-up orphan. It forced my siblings and I to reckon with faith
Two years ago, my dad was in the ICU at a hospital in Salt Lake City. He'd been transferred there from a hospital in my hometown of Idaho Falls, Idaho, because his ruptured aorta demanded more experienced surgeons.
My brother and sister and I flew in to be with him, but after a few days, the signs were trending positively, and he looked at us and deadpanned, "What are you still doing here? I'm fine! Go!"
So we all kissed him on the cheek and flew back to our respective homes. He died a couple weeks later.
Our dad, Stephen, was the parent who was supposed to stick around for a while. It's not like he was young. He was 74. That's a pretty good life. But he was in such good shape. He lifted weights most days and had no serious health issues, and so when he died it felt like we had been robbed again.
Our mom, Linda, died of cancer in 2009. She was just 60 years old. She died before I met my husband. She never got to meet our kids. It felt very much like a life interrupted, cut way too short by a disease that made no sense in a woman who was such a life force herself.
I had convinced
