The room I sat in was filled with family members saying prayers, while tears streamed down their faces. Even my uncle and his family, from New Jersey, were there. He was the strongest man I had ever known, and I could not believe this was happening to him. He was slowly dying, and there was nothing I could do to help him. He was weak, helpless, and oblivious to what had happened. I visited Akron City Hospital almost daily, hoping some of our prayers would be answered.
             It all started when he had taken a bad fall in the garage of his house. My mother and grandmother were concerned by the cut on his forehead, but my grandfather insisted he was fine. They were concerned because, as of late, he had not been the strong, outgoing, rambunctious man we had all known him to be. He had done well since his bypass surgery on his heart about 20 years ago, but still was monitored closely by his doctors for high blood pressure. It was a problem that, even with a diet he followed closely and medication prescribed by his doctor, was a battle he could not seem to win.
             About a week later, when my mother had just arrived back in town from a weekend away, we got the call. My grandfather had been rushed to Akron City Hospital. We arrived in time to see him being pushed on a gurney to the Cardiac Care Unit, the intensive care unit dedicated to heart patients. He was able to speak to us briefly and even smiled as they wheeled him down the hall.
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