Ten-Finger Exercises

A sunny day for Sandy

I didn't really know Sandy, but she was a person who was nearly always smiling. She had always been that way, her friends said. She died on Wednesday, just 67. She couldn't fight any longer.

I took her communion on Tuesday night. She was in bed with a lovely down comforter over her in a room that looked out over the river at the ranch house she and her husband built just a few years ago. She could hardly swallow, so I dipped the wafer in the wine and broke off a tiny piece. I gave the remainder to her husband. He had tears in his eyes today when he thanked me for making their last meal together be the sacrament.

He wore a brown suit and a red tie, because that's what he had worn the day they met.