In spite of the diatribe against compassion that I just published, I was moved by Walter Russel Mead’s blog on the death of his mother. I read Mead’s blog all the time. He keeps me up on much that does not get emphasized in the news.
But today he expresses some of the things I felt when my father died last year.
“My siblings and I are immigrants in a new and forbidding land. We have been swept from the balmy seas and friendly isles that nurtured us into a windswept, harder place. Several friends who have been lived in this land much longer than I have, and have traced its contours and learned to survive here tell me that while this cold new island will support life, the world without your mother will never be the same.”