Four years ago, there was a monsoon storm thrashing Phoenix on this date. We were keeping vigil by a bedside where a struggle was also going on while the storm raged outside. Then the storm stopped (outside and in) and my Dad left for Heaven, quietly and peacefully, looking up as he left.
I wrote about it here last summer, but I want to keep remembering so I am linking to that post tonight. I want to remember that there is sometimes a struggle, but there is peace in the end. The night my Dad died, Heaven was so real to me that I almost expected to see it when I followed my his gaze up to the ceiling.
Now I know that death is just a transition. I've seen it and envy it a little. Can you imagine stepping over with God and reaching your Home that is more familiar and real somehow than the ones we've lived in here on earth?