These Are Strange Times

Today, two things happened that I like to think are at least remotely connected:

1. My wife found a dog on the side of the road.
2. My grandfather passed away.


My grandfather was 92, so it wasn't totally unexpected. Still, I was shocked when I heard the news. He'd survived two World Wars, the Great Depression, and more things than I will ever be able to remember, so it never struck me that I'd learn the news on a random Wednesday night. I've always been one to agree with the Caribbean philosophy that funerals are meant to be celebrated; this earth is not made for us, at least not on a permanent basis.

Death to me has always been like a train; it makes us stop and realize just how powerless we are. Minutes after getting the phone call, I was juggling schedules and making substitute lesson plans. I did so, however, with the clear realization that everything paled in comparison to the funeral on Friday. As I mentioned in a previous blog, death reminds us all of what is really important.

But a part of me thinks he lives on in the dog we found. Judy found him just hours before we learned the news, and he is male. So I think we're going to call him Sherman, after my grandfather.

He seems to like the name.

So to the man who was born on Christmas Day, I say this- there's a dog named after you living in my guest bedroom. I hope he makes you proud.