Well, they say that tears are the wine of blessedness, but I think they may be the grain a. So now it’s okay to say tears are the grain alcohol of blessedness.

I do feel blessed, though, if still soggy, in grief-intoxication. Went to Wads’ funeral this morning.

Saw something I will remember all my days: the pure love of a little girl for her own special daddy. There is nothing like it. If the human race never does another good thing, we have that, more beautiful than any artwork of love, because it’s the thing itself, in person, standing right before you bawling her eyes out and speaking truth.

All three children spoke their hearts at the service, and to me it was a glorious Wads parade, my old friend’s life shown to me in its full accomplishment for the first time. Glenn sent a grand triune of love and wisdom into the world. He was great at approach shots, had a very nice high draw right in toward the pin, but he’s way better at making kids.

Found out/remembered his nickname comes from Waddles. He definitely was packin in back, as his eulogist wryly noted, and his gait was much affected, in a charming way. To me Glenn was a human angel, a giant waddly angel, come to earth to make us laugh and love, and raise a more than moderate amount of Cain. And to make three masterpieces.

Sophia is the youngest, at twenty. Just married, now bereaved, yet of a piece and a magical daughter who will love her father always. Those two were quite something. Now there is only one something of the two, but it is enough.

Your sad but somehow never-lonely,

LWIII