We bid farewell to my brother Mark and his wife Marie after a delightful home made waffle breakfast. We stopped at the hospital one more time to see my mother before heading for the airport and our return flight to Boston. She was considerably weaker than yesterday but still strong enough to recount some of her childhood stories with us. At age twelve she contracted typhoid fever. At that time there were no antibiotics available to treat the disease; at least not in Ecuador. Several of her classmates died of the disease. Her mother pulled her out of the local medical clinic to care for her at home. She was placed in a cool bath several times a day to keep her body temperature in check. After a month she began to show signs of recovery only to regress to the point where her mother’s last resort was to pray for her recovery. Whether it was the prayers or diligent care, she managed to survive. She had to sit out an entire school year but recovered completely. We are hoping that she will find the strength to cheat death for a second time. When we said our goodbyes, however, we did so assuming it might be our last time to do so in person.