Detroit Dawgs

Not A Motor City Football Team

I heard a compelling story at a Food Truck hot dog shop in Fort Myers Beach, Florida. Of course, being born in Detroit, I asked for a discount for my order.

I was turned down for a price reduction.

Got to talking to the owner, a former firefighter, and his wife. His wife had spent more than 20 years as a hospice nurse. I spent five years as a hospice volunteer prior to COVID.

There are not coincidences.

Did she have a story?!

She was visiting a very close girlfriend whose significant other was one day from undergoing big-time cancer in my area of expertise and study. He was both terminal and pre-operative. What?

When she entered his hospital room, she smelled death. Those in the medical field know what I mean.

She asked his partner to speak in the hallway, where she asked to talk to the surgeon.

When the surgeon arrived, he agreed, immediately, that there must have been an error: “This man may not last a few days, much less tolerate surgery.

Surgery was cancelled, and the gentleman succumbed in 48 hours.

That was the final day that the wife of the Detroit Dawgs enterprise worked a hospice shift.

The energy to help others leave this existence with dignity was spent.

She had nurtured him for 48 hours. She told me that, “He did not want to die.”

He was only 57 years old.

I came there for a hotdog.

I received a heartbreaking story.

No coincidences.