Friday, May 06, 2005
A friend died last Sunday. I find I want to remember him here.
He died as we laid hands on him, assuring him that we loved him, and that it was okay to go now.
He let us care for him and that is the gift.
As he became weaker, lost breath to the emphysema, grew a benign brain tumor, became horribly depressed, he didn't push us away angrily. And I don't mean just "us," the church folks. We know there were also Buddhists and poets and people he met in coffee shops; the longer we knew him, even at the end, the more friends and relatives we learned about.
Alfred Robinson, rest now; you are loved.