Some Non-Morbid Musings on Death
A couple of days ago I went through about an hour of weeping. A cry-fest, if you will. Now, those who know me are not startled a bit by that revelation. My tears reside just below the surface, not waiting, but anticipating the next chance they have to escape. It was said of St. Francis that he had the gift of tears. I guess that makes him and I some kind of kin.