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Conversations with God
od so strong that, moments before her
death, the new, young priest who had administered to her the final rites of the Roman
Catholic Church (and who was clearly nervous) came to me from her bedside trembling with
admiration. “My God,” he whispered, “she was comforting me.”
It is the highest tribute to Mom to say that I wasn’t surprised by that.
My father, Alex, had few of the graces of gentler beings. He was blustery, gruff, he could be
embarrassingly abrasive, and there are those who say he was often cruel, particularly to my
mother. I am not willing to judge him for that (or anything else). My mother refused to judge or
condemn him (quite to the contrary, praising him even with her last words), and I cannot
imagine how it serves me to ignore her clear example by sinking beneath it.
Besides, Dad had a huge pile of enormously positive traits, traits of which my Mother never
lost sight. These included an unwavering belief in the indomitability of the human spirit, and a
deep clarity that conditions which needed to be changed were not changed by complaining
about them, but by leadership. He taught me that I could do anything I set my mind to. He
was a man upon whom his wife and family could, and did, depend until the very end. He was
the absolute embodiment of loyalty, of never being a fence-sitter, but always taking a stand,
of refusing to take no for an answer from a world which defeated so many others. His mantra
in the face of even the most overwhelming odds was, “Ah, there’s nothing to it.” I used that
mantra in every challenging time of my life. It worked every time.
It is the highest tribute to Dad to say that I wasn’t surprised by that.
Between the two of them, I felt challenged and called to a place of supreme confidence in
myself, and unconditional love for everyone else. What a combo!
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