This getting older stuff has its definite down side. For example, this smiling Irish imp, Father Vinny McKiernan, died earlier this week. We've been friends for over 40 years, and this is one of those deaths where I find myself curling into a fetal position and trying to breathe.
At 1:30 in the morning, after downing several glasses of wine, my mind was whirring. I found myself compelled to write the following, which is probably only legible to me, so I'll type it here. I know you didn't know Vinny (most of you) but the feeling of loss is pretty much universal, so I thought I'd share it with you.
"Thrashing around like a wounded animal. Drunk on the wine I poured to dull the pain, but not enough, because it raises its head again like a sea serpent about to engulf the world.
You've slipped from my sight, but not my heart. I feel your presence still, although I know I won't feel another hug or hear that voice again, at least not on this side of the gulf that divides us. What is heaven like? Because there's nowhere else you could be with your gentle heart and deep wisdom.
You've spent your life aiming for where you are now, but I am writhing with the pain of not having you here with me. Why can't I be happy for you? I suppose it will come with time, and with more time after that I hope to join you, even if you have to throw down a thick rope with a huge knot in the end to pull me up.
Your friendship was and is a gift. One I've never really understood. It's not false humility. I just know me better than you did. I never deserved to have an angel for a friend, a channel of God's love and mercy right there for me. Always there for me Still there for me.
I'll continue to bend your ear and ask your advice, your help, your love. But just for now I'm thrashing with the missing of you and wondering how on earth I'll fill this void you've left behind.
Life is so much shorter than I thought. I'm being greedy, wanting you to stay when you've put in 93 years and must have been getting tired. I don't want to be a hundred myself. There are days now when I think, "OK, Lord. That'll do." But there's more work to do here.
I feel as though at 71 I'm just beginning to come into my own, to use my talents, to reach others, to share what I've learned. But however long it is from here until the day when it's my turn to go home I will love you and miss you and be stunned at how we ever became such wonderful friends and how you became this giant piece of my heart and my life I'm truly not worthy, but God, am I grateful."
Hug your friends. Live your life Open your eyes. And be kind to one another.
At 1:30 in the morning, after downing several glasses of wine, my mind was whirring. I found myself compelled to write the following, which is probably only legible to me, so I'll type it here. I know you didn't know Vinny (most of you) but the feeling of loss is pretty much universal, so I thought I'd share it with you.
"Thrashing around like a wounded animal. Drunk on the wine I poured to dull the pain, but not enough, because it raises its head again like a sea serpent about to engulf the world.
You've slipped from my sight, but not my heart. I feel your presence still, although I know I won't feel another hug or hear that voice again, at least not on this side of the gulf that divides us. What is heaven like? Because there's nowhere else you could be with your gentle heart and deep wisdom.
You've spent your life aiming for where you are now, but I am writhing with the pain of not having you here with me. Why can't I be happy for you? I suppose it will come with time, and with more time after that I hope to join you, even if you have to throw down a thick rope with a huge knot in the end to pull me up.
Your friendship was and is a gift. One I've never really understood. It's not false humility. I just know me better than you did. I never deserved to have an angel for a friend, a channel of God's love and mercy right there for me. Always there for me Still there for me.
I'll continue to bend your ear and ask your advice, your help, your love. But just for now I'm thrashing with the missing of you and wondering how on earth I'll fill this void you've left behind.
Life is so much shorter than I thought. I'm being greedy, wanting you to stay when you've put in 93 years and must have been getting tired. I don't want to be a hundred myself. There are days now when I think, "OK, Lord. That'll do." But there's more work to do here.
I feel as though at 71 I'm just beginning to come into my own, to use my talents, to reach others, to share what I've learned. But however long it is from here until the day when it's my turn to go home I will love you and miss you and be stunned at how we ever became such wonderful friends and how you became this giant piece of my heart and my life I'm truly not worthy, but God, am I grateful."
Hug your friends. Live your life Open your eyes. And be kind to one another.
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