Worst day of my Life

It started as any other Saturday would-, get up early with the kids, eat breakfast, do laundry and clean the house. The phone rang at about ten and it was my mother, who at that time lived in West Virginia. Normally it would be the normal small talk since, on any given day, I would talk to my mom at least twice, so her calling that early wasn’t out of the “norm”. This time stated a little differently, instead of her starting a conversation with me, she asked for my husband. As I handed the phone to him, I was eaves dropping on the conversation they were having, I knew by the look on his face there was something wrong. He hung up the phone and all he said was, “It’s your dad; we need to pack up the kids and get down there as soon as we can.”
The next hour was a blur; I packed what I could in a hurry and piled myself, husband, and kids in the car for what is usually a gorgeous drive down 77 with all the rocks and trees lining both sides of the highway. Although, the drive to my parent’s house usually took four hours, but somehow on this day, it only took us two and a half. On the way down my mother called and said that my dad was being transferred from the local hospital by their house to the one in Charleston. Just hearing that, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. That drive- not that I remember much of it- was so quick that we beat them to the hospital. As we were waiting for them to arrive, we were still in a state of shock, still not knowing what happened and if he would be okay.
What seemed like an eternity later, my mother finally came into the waiting room where we were anxiously pacing the floors, waiting to hear something, anything? She had been crying for what seemed like hours by the look of her red, puffy eyes and running nose. She started to tell us how that morning, like any other morning, she and my father were lying in bed watching TV, and the next thing she knew, she looked over and his eyes looked glassy and started rolling back into