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    I Can't Believe I'm Writing These Words

    My daddy died today. I can’t believe I’m writing these words. I’ve been moaning and crying and begging God for one last opportunity to tell him I love him. I just want him to know I’ll never forget his uplifting cards and time spent sitting, watching the kids paint or play or sing and the holiday flowers/chocolates/fruit baskets he often surprised us with—just because. Dad was the best gift-giver and the first to call on my birthday and the one who offered the most words of encouragement—even when they didn’t feel deserved. Today’s violent shake is a reminder that life passes before you know it. Go kiss the kids one more…

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    Life Without Purpose Is Not Living At All

    Guest Blogger: Jason HedegardWhat a whirlwind month. I haven’t been so shaken and unbalanced emotionally since my wife’s pulmonary embolism during her stem-cell transplant over 10 years ago. Losing my father at 64 years old has changed my thought process entirely these last few weeks. I feel a strange clock hanging over me now, ticking incessantly, and reminding me of how little time I have left. I’m dying every day, a little at a time. That’s what my doctor told me last week while he examined my torn hip labrum. (In addition to the hernia, which has been repaired, and the torn adductor muscle that isn’t healing as fast as…