My Greatest Day Was Almost My Last
That time I was grazed by the finger of Death
It was the greatest day of my young life.
I’d just had a magical time on the hardwood for my middle school basketball team. I simply couldn’t miss, finishing the day going 9–10 from the field and 7–7 from the free throw line as I racked up a game-high 25 points.
I was ecstatic. Thrilled. Jubilant.
The roar of the cramped-gym crowd was still ringing in my ears, my palms still tingling from all the high-fives from teammates, coaches and friends.
Life doesn’t get any better, I thought.
Little did I know I was being shadowed by the specter of Death and would soon learn about the fragility of life and how one can be snatched from this world in a flash, epic basketball performance notwithstanding.
My family was living at the time in Winnemucca, a small railroad, ranching and mining town in north-central Nevada.
Each winter, the community would go bonkers for basketball. Our high school team, the Buckaroos, owned a 47-game win streak and three straight state championships. Winnemucca had a population at the time of about 3,500. And on Saturday nights, the high school gym was standing-room-only with crowds of up to 3,000. Fans would drive…
