The Love of a Father

When I left on my LDS mission to Ecuador in October 1975 my dad wasn't feeling well, but we just thought it was something like the flu. Because he didn't seem to be getting better, the doctors continued to do some testing. In April I was called from Quevedo to the mission home in Quito and was told that my father had cancer, and they were only giving him 6 months to live. I was devastated. My mission president, President Heward, said that the area president had discussed my situation and felt that I should stay in the mission field. Needless to say, I spent a sleepless night--crying and praying and praying and crying. How was I going to tell my father that I wasn't coming home? He was not even LDS. How would he ever understand? Before I could call him the next morning, my dad called me. He told me that I needed to stay right where I was. I am writing this account 39 years later, and I am crying as I write this because of the great love and sacrifice of my father. He did die, as the doctors predicted, in October 1976. I anxiously wait for the day I can see him again!