The Atlantean Chronicles

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Hello everyone,

Please take a second and read my authors note below. If after reading it you are interested in reading my book, there will be instructions at the bottom on how you can download it for free.

Kip Hartzell


My father, John Hartzell, died on February 2, 1997. It was the saddest day of my life. He was a kind, compassionate man who always did the right thing and it didn’t seem fair that he had to suffer for more than ten years with Lymphoma. The chemo finally took its toll when he was away on business. I received the call that he had been hospitalized with what was thought to be pneumonia but was later diagnosed as chemo-induced Leukemia.
The doctors told him there was nothing they could do and that he probably only had a couple weeks to live. The family was devastated. He was too sick to drive or even take a flight back home to Las Vegas. With the end so near, everyone who knew and loved him, contributed what they could and chartered a private medical jet so he could be with his family during his final days.

The aircraft landed and an ambulance immediately rushed him to the hospital. Pop’s Oncologist told him he could try a radical new chemo treatment if he wanted but warned that it was so strong it might kill him.
My father was a fighter and chose the treatment. I was used to seeing him on the verge of death but somehow knew that this would be the last session of treatments and tried being strong for the family. I spent every waking hour in the hospital with Pop. I would see the rest of the family almost daily as each came to visit. It was heartbreaking watching my grandmother witness her first-born son deteriorate.
When the treatments were finally over, we patiently waited for the results. The news was bad—the procedure hadn’t worked. Hospice personnel showed up and talked with my father while I sat in the lobby. After an hour the nurse came over and gave me a hug.
She said that Pop told her to come back in a few weeks. By then he would be ready to go with her. I broke down in tears. She tried comforting me by adding that Pop had said that his boys (my brother and I) weren’t ready to be without a father just yet and he needed time to prepare us.
It took me an hour to compose myself after hearing this. And I finally came to realize that I had to tell Pop he’d suffered enough. Now it was time to just let go and die.
I went back into that hospital room, ready to tell my father he could let go…we’d be okay. But before I could get a word out he asked me to go down to the gift shop and buy a pad of paper. I did as he asked, thinking that he wanted me to write down his will.

When I returned, he told me he had been having flashbacks for years about another life he felt sure he had lived. He started at the beginning, dictating for hours. What he said blew my mind. He never sounded crazy or drugged during the next two weeks. I was astonished that he never lost his place or repeated anything he had already said.
I asked many questions—all were answered without hesitation. When he finally reached the end of his story, he fell asleep.
The next day the Hospice nurse came back to check up on him. He told her he was ready to go. At that point, he was barely conscious.
I rode in the ambulance with him. He awoke along the way for a couple of seconds and asked where he was. When I told him he fell back to sleep.
My father spent the next two and a half days at the Hospice. He died at five o’clock in the morning on February 2nd. But before he died, he made me promise that somehow I would get his story published. He believed every word he told me to be true. And now, having had years to think about it…so do I.

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