The rest of that night is a feverish blur. I asked to talk to my mom; had a slice of chocolate cake; prayed. I remember waking up every few hours and seeing my mother praying by my bedside, then every nurse in the hospital, and then every cleaning staff member who loved my father for his kindness toward them throughout the years — all praying for me.
Recorded On Being column, 7 February 2018 source ↗