I had called the house that morning from my father's.  I asked Stephen if he wanted to go shopping with my sister and I.  He said no he wasn't up to it.  We should go and have a good time.  Little did I know this would be the last time I talked to him.

I called that afternoon three different times.  I knew he was home alone.  I knew he wouldn't of gone outside.  Somehow in the back of my mind I wondered if he was OK, or if something had happened.  The last time I called him I was back at my father's.  I told my sister I was going home.  I thought something was wrong because Stephen was not answering the phone.

When I got home I found Stephen in his bed.  Slumped over between the bed and the bedside table, face down.  He was totally unresponsive.  I went into the other room where the phone was and called 911.  When the paramedics arrived they tried to bring him back.  He was gone.  It was a nightmare.  

I had police , paramedics and then the people from the funeral home in my house.  This all went on for what seemed like forever.  I guess it was the better part of two hours.

If at that time I didn't have the support of my sister and my pastor who came over when I called them I don't know what I would of done.

Has anyone else had this kind of experience?