And so I hold his hand, pat him on the shoulder and tell him it'll be OK. And so it shall, in as sense; for our lives are hidden in Christ, after final breath we shall stand the golden streets and see Him face to face.
I guess the question, then, is what of the people left behind? Bittersweet memories and regrets; what-ifs, and if-onlys; empty rooms and silent houses. None of these permanent of course - we'll meet again one day, where the mountains touch the sky.
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