I thought we were just pulling over for a quick break. Cyrus said he was feeling a little lightheaded—”probably nothing,” he mumbled. That’s how he always was. Understated. Even last fall, when he had a serious health scare, he called it “just a cramp.”
But this time felt different.
We were driving to a family memorial about four hours away. I offered to drive, but Cyrus waved me off. “I know these roads better than GPS,” he said. Just twenty minutes from our destination, he decided to pull over for a moment. That was half an hour ago.
I had stepped into the trees to take a call from my daughter. When I returned, he was still in the driver’s seat—head tilted, eyes closed—like he’d simply fallen asleep.
Except… he wasn’t breathing.
A patrol car pulled up behind us, lights flashing. I flagged the officer down, barely able to speak.
At first, he looked relaxed, like it was a routine stop. But when he leaned in and saw Cyrus, everything changed. He opened the door, checked for a pulse, and called out, “Sir? Can you hear me?”—but there was no response.
He radioed for medical support. I stood frozen, helpless.
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