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I wrote and e-mailed this experience, right after it happened, to a friend who recently moved to the West Coast. I don't know how light it is, but I figure if it's good enough to share with someone I’ll probably never see again, and who was never blessed with meeting Rev. O'Meara, then ,it assuredly feels right to share it with friends and neighbors here, who have...		spring mating calls — along with isolated strange screams I’d never heard before, laden with an eerie almost primal pain of some kind. Two loons winged their way past my perch, their haunting trills blending into the wild symphony. The full moon came up through the veil of tears, and I could hear the hidden flocks of gulls and Canada geese out there in the middle squawking and crying
I really hate telephones. Why? Because they can convey in one second three words that can make you lose your mind: “I called to tell you Bob O’Meara died." What? How can you dare to say those words! A meteor came from outer space and crashed down through the roof and into my skull right at that second. My breathing stopped. No words would come.			and yelping to each other in their spring mating calls — along with isolated strange screams I’d never heard before, laden with an eerie almost primal pain of some kind. Two loons winged their way past my perch, their haunting trills blending into the wild symphony. No hint of mankind could be seen until the distant lights peered through the dark horizon. I looked at the glowing reflection of the moon at my feet. It was shimmering right there where so much of my
“Dan, are you there? Are you alright?” No, I’m not alright. I’m racing down a tunnel at the speed of darkness. He was such a beautiful, beautiful man. He presided over brother Steve's wedding. He presided over sister Julie's wedding. He baptized nephew Curtis. He was RIGHT THERE guiding us through the nightmare week of horror when Stephen died. He stood holding our hands in a circle over Dad's bed as he fought for his last breaths on Earth. He delivered the most beautiful eulogies for both of them, we were so fortunate to have him there*. Such a quiet pillar of spiritual strength. So elegant, so comforting, so close to the Spirit and never pushy, never aggressive about it as so many can be. In moments of deepest sorrow, his presence was like a sponge, soaking up the suffering along with you, a small tear in his eye too. Then there were the words, the most beautiful words — gentle yet commanding, resolute in faith — escaping his lips at just the right moment for guidance, for assurance in the peace of heart of the Almighty. Each time it's different. I didn't know I could expel such emotion for someone like that. I never realized how much I must have loved him in a totally different way I’d never experienced before. The full moon came up through the veil of tears, and I could hear the hidden flocks of gulls and Canada geese out there in the middle squawking and crying and yelping to each other in their		life has been spent on glorious summer days thru the decades. It was right there where Bob and Selma and his young family would come and swim in years long gone by.
		I tried to focus on the brilliant disc. It was wavering, glimmering in its borrowed light on the water’s surface. Was it my tears that made it quiver so? The lake was smooth as glass. Why wouldn't the bright light congeal, slowly form into a
					Daniel Smith
		solid ball, become peaceful and still? In all the universe, in all of time, where is the peace? Where is the stillness? Ah ha.... My mind finally caught up with my emotions and I suddenly questioned all this outpouring. Were they really just tears of self pity — the panic of being left behind to face a future devoid of his comforting rod and staff in predestined times of darkness to come. New life had quickly resumed after the melting ice sheet, and soon the lake would buzz with boats pulling children screaming in glee as they whip back and forth. '"Don't cry for me Argentina, the truth is I never left you...' I mean, come on Dan, look where I AM.