reflection

I wrote this on my last summer Monday in BY.
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I'd met him only once, briefly, in church. His face was serene, kind and warmly familiar. I didn't see him again until today, as he lay quietly, finally at peace. It seems strange that I didn't know him--but then, as I looked up and saw his face reflected in his children, in his spectacular daughter whom I am lucky enough to call a friend, I realized that I had come to know the very best of him.

This sweet, compassionate, fierce and wildly intelligent man is not a stranger. I know about the tennis tournament he hosted in his backyard every summer. I know that 60 years ago, he went to class in the building where I work every day. I know that each Sunday for 40 some years, you could find him in the 4th pew of the small Catholic church in the center of town. I know that even as his memory faded and cruelly slipped away, he continued to exude the same gentleness, love and humor that had defined him for almost 80 years. I know that six weeks ago, his youngest son brought a new baby--the 30th grandchild--to meet his grandfather. He lay the baby gently in his father's arms, preparing to help him as you would help a toddler. But those arms, arms that didn't remember how to work or write or eat, eased into the cradled position that had held his own 10 children and 29 grandchildren before this.

There aer some things that simply cannot be stripped away.