That November day in 2004 began like so many others: off to early Mass, breakfast at Sparky’s Diner, and then on to work. It started taking a different turn late in the morning, when my son Tom called, asking that I drive him to a doctor’s appointment. I can still see Tom, sitting in the hospital bed with tears flowing down his face, trying to comprehend this. All of us were stunned. We just couldn’t believe that such a thing was happening to a thirty-three-year-old man who was otherwise active and healthy, just at the start of his life.
It was for some “routine” tests, he told me on the way over—just to check out some minor stomach pains he’d been experiencing for...
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