to be human is to be forgetful. Continue reading
The transcript of my eulogy on the occasion of my grandpa, Chuck Thomey’s death. Continue reading
The Bustle in a House
I hope we do use that love again; even the same love I had and have for Grandpa used for his children, grandchildren, and hoped-for great-grandchildren. I think that’s a piece of resurrection in the midst of death. Hope in the middle of darkness.
spending the last few days keeping vigil at grandpa’s hospice bedside, I’ve counted each of his breaths. As the pauses between his exhale and inhale lengthen, I hold my own breath, listening for his lungs to heave once more, knowing that at some point soon, they won’t. He will exhale, his body will go slack, and he won’t breathe anymore till his Maker remakes him, on the last day. Continue reading
our bodies are only dust, the prayers and liturgies of this day remind us. But this year, as I prepare to go up to visit my dying grandfather, I’m struck by how precious dust is to us. Continue reading