Though the trip to the Bahamas was all we had hoped, a call from Deb's brother in the early morning the day we boarded the boat, let us know that her Father had passed away. All agreed that Paul would have wanted us to continue with the trip as there was nothing we could do in PA. But there was a bittersweet undercurrent to the voyage.

There are few places as suitable as the deck of a small sailboat in the open water, deep in the night watches, to absorb such a blow. The sea reminds us of the fundamental contradictions to our living. On the one hand we are small things afloat, barely noticeable on the unfolding waters. On the other it is us who knows the sea, who think and feel and dream, who love and hope and laugh; not the other way around. Though infinitesimally small on the scale of what is, it is life that gives meaning to the immense. Without life, quite literally, nothing matters.

Like many men of his generation Paul was a very private person. It wasn't until he passed that his kids learned he was an ex-Navy man and in charge of a gun crew during the Korean War. (As his only Son-in-Law I include myself in that group.) Private as he might have been, the church building was filled to overflowing and the service went on for nearly two hours, as people spoke of his touch on their lives. To close two Navy men presented the Colors. There wasn't an unbroken heart anywhere within the sound of the last note of Taps fading away. It is a measure of our size that we can know such sorrow, endure such tears, yet lose nothing of the love.