The complexity of death is like a thousand rooms, difficult to accept--memories of the one gone like narrow lines of light at the bottoms of doors, locked for eternity. 

This is how I feel as I stand in front of those locked doors grieving my colleague who died this week. Over the last year he'd been having some medical problems, but he'd been back at work, and we'd been finding a rhythm again--a rhythm that we'd forged for over a decade.  I grew to know what he was thinking before he even spoke.  He knew when I was likely to forget an item or two and completed the task without criticism.  We did not socialize outside of work, but I knew details of his family and he mine.  He had a way of listening to everybody, really.  But he listened to me too.  He'd place his hand on his chin and provide full attention, his gray-blue eyes locked on mine.  When I finished speaking, he might sit quietly and nod, or say something so salty or funny that I instantly felt better.  He could read the moment and knew what to say. Some days we were so busy, I hardly ever saw him.  Other days, we worked side by side.  We could be quiet together without saying anything.  We trusted each other.

He leaves a young family.  I feel for them--to lose him so fast, so suddenly.  He was only 48--a man who exhibited tangible goodness.  I can't really imagine how much his wife and two children will miss him.

Right after I learned of his death, I had this flash of him in my mind.  He looked young, a head full of dark hair (he'd lost most of it over the years).  He was laughing, joyful.  I want to keep that vision of him in my mind.  I think he'd want me to.  I know he'd want me to go on doing the work we did to help others.  I can just hear him say, "It's damn important, Priscilla."  So I will.  

At the funeral his precious 19-year-old son spoke.  He said he remembered his dad telling him at times, "It's all good son; it's all good."   His son ended the memorial speech by saying, Dad's all good now, and so am I."  I imagine my colleague saying this to me too.  At the end of the service strains of I Saw the Light played as we left the chapel, back to our individual life paths...no more darkness, no more night.  

God's peace, kind friend and dearest colleague.