Proof The Bible Is True

I was already on my way to be with Dad when I realized I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my work clothes. It was a four-hour drive from my home outside of Atlanta to Asheville, North Carolina, where Dad was in the hospital having surgery to repair a patch for an aneurysm he’d suffered years earlier.

 

My brother, Joe, had called me at work to tell me the operation wasn’t going well. “They can’t stop the bleeding,” he said. “Dad’s arteries are too calcified. Can you come?” I finished my shift at the med-surg unit in the hospital, and stopped by the house to pack a bag and make sure my teenagers were set while I was away. I was still in my scrubs when I got in my car.

 

Joe had been at the hospital since early morning, but the surgery had been delayed until late afternoon. Then the complications. Joe would wait till Dad was out of surgery and go home to rest while I traveled.

 

I hated the idea of Dad being alone at the hospital, even for a few hours. I was a widow, raising two teenagers and working a busy job. Plus, there was Dad, 85, with just my brother and me to look out for him. Sometimes I felt alone in the face of it all.

 

The road wound through the mountains of North Carolina, the sky pitch dark. A wrong turn cost me another hour backtracking. It was nearly 2 a.m. before I reached the hospital.

 

Inside I approached the guard and gave him my father’s name. “Seibert,” he repeated. “Yes, he’s in the ICU. An older woman has been here visiting him. You just missed her.”

 

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