When we arrived at the hospital to see Mack, he had been flown down from State College to Penn State Hershey Medical Center, a minister met us and took us to the “quiet room.” Ironic since it is a place for people to cry and yell. I knew what was wrong then, I knew what had happened. I had done my “clinical pastoral education” and although I had never had to console a family in the hospital on the tragic and sudden loss of a loved one, I knew what the quiet room meant: anything but quietness.
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