John,
The only time I remember anything like that...  I was nineteen and my
college roommate (and high school) died in the DC10 crash in Chicago.  We
played on the same hockey line for six years, went to hockey camp together
in the summers, and both loved Latin. We had side by side desks at boarding
school and college and read at about the same pace.  Often we would burst
out laughing at the same time, from our reading assignments.  We laughed a
lot.  When we were together, we found the world very, very amusing.  We had
a Latin teacher that was one of the funniest guys I ever met:  John Tulp.
Anyway, Andy's funeral was back in the Chapel where we had gone to boarding
school.  I had spent a fitful night not resonating with any words to say. I
had lots of crumpled sheets of paper, and even the lines I liked I couldn't
say out loud without losing my composure. That Sunday, I remember climbing
the pulpit, as I had done many times, looking out over the faces of all our
old friends, his parents, my parents, all our teammates from our undefeated
hockey team, our coach, Mr. Tulp, and suddenly this incredible rush of power
and energy came into me, and I was speaking.  I was speaking with love,
strength, compassion, or so I was told later, but to this day, I have no
idea, or memory of the day from that time on.
So, here is to the best part of our selves that we do not understand.
Cheers,
Leland

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