One of the most surprising things about this time of grief is how greatly I feel compelled to talk with men who have some mileage on them. To listen to as well as offer my earned wisdom with men who've been here. It's like I've gained entry to a club. I'm ready to sip refreshments by the pool with other members and tell no-shit stories about the drive there.

I guess on the surface its obvious why now I'm drawn to the company of mature men - longing for that source of heroic power my father once symbolized. The sad fact is that Dad, advisor and teacher, passed from my life years ago as the cycle of becoming a caretaker to him overtook both of us. His passing now allows me to catch up on missing Him.

It's easy to imagine how the breakdown of the flesh can destroy the hero-philosopher in any mortal. Unless, I'm convinced, he has some kind of spiritual core. We've just witnessed the passing of a pope whose spiritual vortex was so profound, that in spite of his health, he remained active until hours before his death.

The extraordinary photo of John Paul II taken in 1999 has come to symbolize his final days.
http://www.afp.com/english/afp/?pid=events/pope

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