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epilogueOne Final Word

In May 1991, my dad, Bob McAfee was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. He was 67 years old.

We had three months with him before he died.

I called it “our summer of love.”

His habits of sarcasm and distance melted into warm affection.

We talked about everything—from lawn mowers to life after death.

Mom and I were with him in the living room when he died one rainy August night.

Watching him face his death so gracefully and give up his life so peacefully changed me.

I lost my fear of death.

I fell more in love with my life.

There have been many other deaths in my community since then.

Heartbreaking ones that we thought we couldn’t endure.

Even so, we found deeper connections to each other and to life itself through ...