It was supposed to be a day to remember life, and resurrection. Instead, Easter Sunday became a day for death.
We all knew it was coming. Over the past several weeks Gladys,* the mother of my close friend, had grown weaker and weaker from the cancer that was claiming her body. She had borne her burden bravely, walking slower and slower until she was confined to a wheelchair, and then finally to a bed. Gladys always had a ready smile on her lips and warm words of greeting for her many visitors.
Easter morning dawned bright and clear, but in Gladys’ room it was clear to everyone that the end was near. Throughout the day friends softly came and …