The following blog is written by WEWS Managing Editor Jim Scott sharing his experiences about his father who is dying of cancer.

Jim will provide daily updates.

You may e-mail him your comments.

Previous Blogs: Entry One | Entry Two | Entry Three | Entry Four | Entry Five

---

The call came Thursday afternoon, it was my wife. The news was not good.

"Dad is back in the hospital, and he probably won't make it. The hospital says the family should get here tonight. "

She told me she's taking Mom, the kids and the grandkids and she'll see me there.

"Drive carefully, we need you here." Of course I would, after all, I'm the guy whose kids laugh because I dare to drive right at the posted speed limit.

Today, a pretty good week came crashing down. I thought he'd died, that they didn't want to tell me to make sure I could drive home safely.

That three hour trip felt a lot longer. My mind raced, playing back special moments of my life with Pop; the driving lessons, the graduations, even prom night, when he warned me that his one and only car had better come back in the shape it's leaving. For whatever reason the tears didn't come during that drive; in fact, I wasn't as sad as usual.

I almost felt relieved believing that Pop had let go and was on his way to a better place. I thought, "He's not going to suffer anymore." It's a shame too because he really loved that new care home.

At that moment my cellphone rang. I really didn't want to answer it but I recognized the number. It was from Cathy Nemeh. Remember, she and her husband Dr. Issam Nemeh, whose miraculous healings have been reported around the country, prayed for Pop recently. She was calling to say they'd talked with Momma and prayed with her today. I told her I got the call earlier that he's probably near the end.

I thanked Cathy for all she'd been to my family and asked that she continue pray for Pop not to suffer. She told me she would , and to drive safely.

As I approached the hospital my body tightened. I even parked a block away so that I could walk out the stiffness and prepare for what awaited me. Through the emergency room doors, I first saw my daughters, my wife, and then my granddaughter. They had no tears, and no expressions of grief, so I wondered what was going on. They said PAP (that's what everyone else called him) was in room 19 so I headed back.

My heart sunk when I saw him. He was alive, but he looked worse than he had in months. His face was drawn, his mouth couldn't close, and his skin tone was a medium gray. Momma was sitting there with him. She told me they said it didn't look good, but that he's still with us. Pop opened his eyes and said "of course." He closed them and would not speak again; At least not for awhile!

After a time, I told Momma and the girls to go home. They'd been at the hospital for hours and they all looked exhausted. I said I wanted to spend the time left with him alone. The hospital did put him in a room, but I fully expected it to be a short night.

How ironic, there he was back on the same floor where this journey started, among other critically ill people, whose families were just like mine; all hoping for the best, fully expecting the worst.

And here I was back at Pop's bedside asking God to give my dad peace and without suffering. I thought this night would be his last, but he had other ideas.

He opened his eyes and said "Hey, what are you doing here? Is it Friday already?"

I said, "No, it's Thursday night," and he shot back, "Then why are you off the job?" I didn't have an answer, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

My dad believed you didn't take off work for anything, certainly not to sit and watch him sleep. He didn't know everyone thought he wasn't going to make it past the early evening. It was now 11 p.m. I watched the late news while he slept.

E-mail Jim your comments.