A political path to inner peace

My grandfather died in his home at the age of 88.  He was surrounded by his wife, four children, a handful of grandchildren and loved ones.  When he opened his eyes for the last time—just minutes before his last breath—my mother was standing on a chair, shouting and waving her hands.  “Dad, it’s me!  We’re okay!  It’s okay!”  A life fully lived, with only despair and joy pulling at the edges of the final passage.   As mom shouted on a chair and my sister held GrandSam’s hand, I was walking across a golf course in Kenya.  I glanced at my blackberry, nonchalant one moment, melting onto the green the next.  Salty sobs on African soil.  I was in Nairobi.  They were in New Orleans.  I felt the distance in my bones.  His departure was crushing. *** I met the man known as Dr. Sam Logan six years ago in Nicaragua.  Of course, I had known him my entire life—GrandSam was the only grandfather I ever knew. ...

We are preparing for the passing of my grandfather, Dr. Sam Logan, Founding Director of West Jefferson Hospital, beloved member of Trinity Episcopal Church, lifelong supporter of the arts, world traveler, healer to the poor and needy, and adored pillar of his community. He will leave this world with a legacy of light and grandeur, carried on courageously by his wife, four children and their spouses, twelve grandchildren, three great grandchildren (with two more on the way) and hundreds, if not thousands, of friends and loved ones whose lives he has touched.  As we hold vigil for my mother's father, I am reminded of a similar process for my precious grandmother, Happy--mother of my father, for whom I was named, a giant of a woman despite her small stature. Below is the tribute that I wrote and read at Happy's memorial service, just one year ago.  I expect I'll write more about GrandSam as the depth of his passing settles into my spirit. I wish I could see the jig that...

In a city of concrete and cars, I walk far too few steps on the padded ground of fallen leaves.  Yesterday I went on a perfect fall adventure to the outskirts of Washington, where the trees are turning and the wine is flowing in Virginia's rolling countryside.  We hiked along a quiet river, ate fried chicken and cupcakes, drank wine, and discussed everything from the war on climate change to the merits (errr, demerits) of people who look curiously similar to one another.  I of course have opinions on both, but no need to go into those here. We were 16 friends in a forest with no agenda but to enjoy one another and the quiet energy of the natural world.  And of course to celebrate the birthdays of three particularly awesome ladies. As the woods and river refueled me, I was likewise cognizant of the transmission of easy joy emanating from our group.  Lacking a better term, it was pure goodness.  Goodness that runs deeps through the Being of each person, ...