We didn’t think he would make it through the night: He kept asking for “Murphy…” — but no one knew who that was
“We didn’t think he’d make it through the night.” He was very ill—low oxygen, high fever, barely conscious. But through it all, he kept whispering one name: “Murphy… Murphy…” We thought it might be a son or old friend. But when asked, he softly said:“My good boy… I miss my good boy.” We called his…