Frank’s Way

And although we never spoke of his faith, he told me it was strong. 

There is a tear in the fabric of my world tonight. My friend died a few hours ago on Saturday night.

I will miss him. The world was a better place with Frank in it.

I will miss the warmth in his voice when he talks about his wife — and the love in his eyes when he talks about their children.

I will miss the humanity of our friendship in an era where many friendships are virtual.

Frank was a quiet man. I did not know Frank well, but I knew him well enough to know that he is a kind  man I could turn to if ever I needed a friend.

And although we never spoke of his faith, he told me it was strong. Not by the words he said, but by the images I remember of him that took their place: A worn Bible in the passenger, front-seat of his car; the well-used rosary that protruded from the back pocket of his jeans; and, the way he never could join us on Saturday nights to go out. My friend’s Saturday nights were spent with Patricia at evening mass, in worship and in prayer. He never missed their night with Jesus.

It is fitting that Frank would die on a Saturday night. It’s appropriate both the end of his worldly life and beginning of his eternal life would be on the day he had devoted himself to worship and prayer for the past seven-plus decades.

My friend is with our Friend in heaven tonight.

My friend has found his way home.

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