Late-night calls used to send my heart racing. During my childhood such calls meant one thing: somebody had passed.

Late-night calls in recent years have become commonplace and far less alarming. That’s because we armed our children with cell phones when they became teenagers and paid for their use with one stipulation: if we called, they were required to answer. We also asked them to regularly check in with us and oh, they did. In fact, “back pocket” calls, those accidental dialings made after dropping a phone into a purse or shoving it into a pocket, came so regularly we stopped lunging at the phone each time it rang.

It is for these reasons that a phone call, rousing me from sleep this week, set off no alarms in me at first. I assumed that one of the kids, now young adults, probably had something they wanted to tell us about their day. We love those calls and take them without complaint, for the kids are wanting to share tidbits about their lives, their friends and their work.

This call, was different. My husband did not hit the speaker as he normally does so I can easily join the conversation. Instead, Matt grew quiet after offering his usual initial greeting.

“I see. I see. I see.”

I turned on the reading light, realizing it was indeed, a call we knew we’d eventually receive, but not so soon and not without warning. As Matt silently mouthed to me our friend’s name, I felt a wash of cold water move down my body, that same feeling I get every time I hear news that hurts my heart.

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”

Now propped up on my elbow, the full impact of the conversation reached deep within me. Our friend, the one who shared an office space with my husband for a few months, who loved to fish and had an appetite for good food and good friends with whom to share it, had stepped away from his cancer-filled body. While we anticipated this outcome, we did not want to say goodbye just yet.

As we quickly pulled on travel clothing and grabbed our jackets, we shared short snippets of conversation. Did we have our phone charger? Should we grab some coffee? After those exchanges we grew silent as we drove to the hospital, both of us praying. Both anticipating what we might experience and how we would respond.

In those moments on the road, in the dark, I thought of Steve Jobs, of all people. It is widely reported that the Apple CEO and company founder had many doubts about God. Self-made men often do. So do those dealt great sorrow in this life. Yet it has been revealed by his sister that in those final moments, when he could still speak, he looked beyond those gathered in the room and spoke these simple words, “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow.”

So to our dear friend, we’re glad your trial is over. We celebrate you and eagerly anticipate “The wow!” That alone makes this goodbye bearable.