13 Thanks Tim
I had wept for family and for friends at funerals.
I had given homilies that celebrated the lives of dear ones. I had
genuinely mourned their passing. But the first time I looked death in
the face was when my brother Tim died.
By the time I got to Dublin, Tim was in hospital
and not in good shape. He could communicate but not converse. We
didn't really have to, though I would have appreciated some guidance
about how we could spend the time, about what he might like to hear.
With Margaret he had given me a quarter century
of welcome to his home. Earlier he taught me how to drive a car. He
tried valiantly to teach me how to drive a golf ball. He taught me
sensitivity to people who need a helping hand.
Now I could be sure that I had really loved
someone in this world. I even felt a few vibrations of Jesus on the
cross, a few of his heart-stirrings that outlasted death.