In the wee hours of Sunday morning, we are awakened at 3 a.m. by the ringing doorbell, followed by knocking. This is serious and probably not someone whose car has broken down and needs a phone...like that happens anyway these days.
I make PMO get up and answer. He stumbles downstairs and opens the door. I overhear the words "nursing home" and "Joplin." Instinctively, even in my half-unconscious state, I know what this means. I have three missed calls from NHC. 1:22 a.m., 1:33 a.m. and 2:06 a.m.
PMO hands me a piece of legal paper with a phone number and name on it. I grab my blackberry, and sit a the dining room table. Bob is a CNA (certified nursing assistant) from the nursing home. He apologizes and then informs me that Dad has passed away.
I remember him saying something about Dad having "a rough couple of days." And that he suffered "a couple of seizures" before succumbing to death.
We talk about where he will be taken. A mortuary in Joplin. There are two. Someone from Mason-Woodard will be calling me.
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