Good Friday Synchroblog with Convergent Books About five years ago, my family traveled to Japan. When the last day arrived, we were reluctant to leave the tropical island. Standing on the shore of the East China Sea, my husband urged me to take a long last look. “After all,” he insisted, “we will probably never return to this place.” That day, I stopped what I was doing and carefully examined the exotic scene: the green moss covered coral reefs, the grey blue water stretching as far as I could see, the sea shells littering the white sand. I took a deep breath and concentrated…this was my last glimpse of Okinawa. Last moments are meant to be savored because they may never happen again. But all too often last moments have a way of sneaking up on us. We don’t realize they are the “last” until they are gone. In 1998, my dad died of a heart attack at the age of 60. His death stunned my family. There were no last moments. No last chances to say good-bye, to tell him h...