On a Sunday morning before
he, his wife and the Chocolate
Lab go for a jog, he sits read-
ing poems and meditations
and then hears Samuel Barber’s
Adagio for Strings. His should-
ers slump; his face quivers as
the tears begin to rise; the
memories, ever present and ever
so deep rush to the surface
pushing the tears up and out;
he lowers the book to his lap
and catches his breath in the
halting, gasping sigh of a
child after a big cry.