Memories of Dad

I vividly remember this story, being immediately told about it by both parties soon afterward.

It’s hard to think of anything that captures dad’s personality better.

It is difficult to put into words the range of emotions I’ve experienced through this. Initially concern, then hope, then consternation, then despair. Eventually fury.

I feel great pain now, as an acquaintance of a great man lost and vicariously as a friend to his children.

Ideas of faith and justice and fairness fall apart at times like this. For some, there is solace in family or faith. For others, solace in solitude and reflection. For others, it is best to revisit the fond memories.

Your father was a kind, gentle man with a sharp mind, wit and zeal for life that refreshed those he met. I have told dozens of people who will never meet him the story of living on the beach and fighting wild dogs for his food and dealing with machete-wielding bus occupants.

Once, I called John to speak with him about some trivial matter at the apartment. Initially, however, I told him I was calling for legal help. I told him I’d run a bus full of nuns and children off the road. He said, “Aron, for a big enough retainer, I’ll make you a hero.”

He’ll be missed greatly, but you know that very well.

Thank you, Aaron, for the story. And my, and my family’s, appreciation to everyone who sent their thoughts, their prayers, their hopes, and their kind words.

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