I learned, at a fairly young age, that life can change as quickly as it takes a heart to beat. It was the day before Thanksgiving, 1973, when my father suffered a heart attack.  He was 56 and I was 8. As the sole breadwinner, I am sure all the worries he had about caring for his wife and seven kids (four of whom were minors) were pinging in his head, keeping time with his rapid pulse rate. Thankfully, after several weeks in the hospital, he was allowed to come home in time for Christmas.  Read on...