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Chapter 1
I
t was an unseasonably warm late April evening when the phone rang, immediately filling me
with joy as I answered it, hearing the voice of my mentor and friend Leo, a Monsignor in the Catholic
Church. He was having some throat trouble as of late so it was not his usual calming voice I detected,
but instead a raspy, breathy sound which emanated. “Hey Teach, got a second?” This was our
private joke we always went through when he needed computer help. I had been teaching him
computers for the better part of our twenty year friendship which earned me the honored title of
Teacher while he, the apt pupil, I fondly began to call Grasshopper. As I so often had responded in
the past, I laughed and said “… Grasshopper for you a lifetime.”
“Can I read you something?,” he said with weakened voice. I said “Sure,” rather intrigued, because
even though we shared a common love of books, Leo was fairly predictable in our phone conversations
and this request was a first.
He whispered: “It’s from ‘The Journey Home’.” Now my interest was even more heightened, as this
was the book I wrote chronicling my experiences as caretaker in the final days of my mother’s illness,
until her eventual death, just seven months before. I had given Leo a personal signed copy of it in
thanks for his unwavering and comforting presence to me and my family during a very difficult time.
His hoarse voice began to speak all too familiar words:
“I have grown in faith. I have embraced trust and surrender in a whole new way. This is not a ‘school’ I
recommend for anyone. But on the other hand – if I were to choose a process of dying for someone I love as much
as Mom again, this would definitely be it. This is the mystery of death I have come to understand: this is the
mystery of grace; how one person’s death can be a catalyst for many other miracles. The chain reaction is more
like a trail of dominoes that creates joy as you watch it unfold.”
A brief silence ensued, eventually broken only by his one word, “Wow.” I thought I detected a quiver
in his voice as he continued: “Teach, I don’t know what to say but thank you. I just called to tell you I
needed to hear that and it comforts me.” Even more puzzled than before, I simply uttered, “Your
welcome,” and we said our goodbyes and hung up.