<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri',sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In conjunction with our theme of <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">&ldquo;Tender Moments,&rdquo;</strong> last week I wrote about my need to be present for the many <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">tender moments</strong> before and after my dad&rsquo;s death on March 12th. Dying, death, and grief can have hard <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">moments</strong> and <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">tender</strong> ones, and sometimes both at the same time. I think about when multiple relatives and grandchildren came to visit Dad when he was a patient at Hershey Medical Center. Dad asked to spend time with each one individually. Because it was getting increasingly harder for him to speak clearly, I was also present for these visits to help interpret what Dad was saying. Those were very hard and <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">tender moments</strong>. Then there was the surge in energy he had when my mom and I were with him a few days before he died. Dad was so appreciative of our time together and we all expressed our love for one another. Again, both hard and <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">tender moments</strong> I will never forget. I&rsquo;m so grateful I was able to be present. It takes courage to be present and we&rsquo;ll talk more about that next week. </span></p>