I came home this afternoon from my chaplaincy work at Whidbey General to find a half dozen frantic messages on my voicemail telling me that a beloved member of the Vashon congregation had been killed in a car wreck on icy roads this afternoon.
This elderly but vital man was a fixture on Vashon Island, a retired large-animal vet who owned huge Shire horses and lugged kids around in a horse-drawn wagon on every possible island occasion. He knew zillions of poems and would recite them at the drop of a hat, always perfectly, always something appropriate. That voice is now stilled and we are bereft.
It can't be. It just can't.