Through the night, his breathing was shallow and restful. There was no indication of discomfort as he lay there in his God-given coma, waiting on the angels to take him to be with the Father. Byron was near death by morning.
As I softly spoke to him, though he couldn’t respond verbally, he smiled a couple of times. He could hear me…he could understand. The room was quiet and peaceful as the shadows of night kept us company. Then, as the mornings sun’s rays filtered through the window, Byron breathed his last as the angels came to take him home. He was 59. In a moment, at sunrise, he was gone.
Happy 75th Birthday, Byron.
Fingerprints on Our Hearts
There is no movement in the room.
Shadows hide the sense of gloom.
Darkness holds its sweet reward:
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