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EMMY and I have a friend
we met on a trip abroad years ago. Still, though we have not seen
each other since then, we exchange Christmas letters every year.
Bill Eisert was 86 when he died in November. We only learned about
it when his friend and legal guardian sent us a notice of his death
and the Christmas card that Bill had written to us a couple of weeks
before he passed away.
His
friend, Elgia, who wrote us about his demise said, “Let’s
don’t think of Bill as gone away, for his journey has jut begun.
Think of Bill reaping the benefits of comfort where there are no
days and years. Think of him as living in the hearts of those he
touched for nothing loved is ever lost and he was loved so much. He
was so sincere in caring for others. . . . Bill had a great friend
named Mario Pieroni. They became extremely close and kept each other
going. Mario passed away in July of 2006 and when I was at Bill’s
home before the holidays, on his desk was a note, which read
‘Mario, I am coming.’ This is how strong he felt he was
ready.”
I
wish to share with you parts of Bill’s letter to us because I know
it will be a source of inspiration to you. It is the least I can do
for a man who lived honestly and went to God well prepared. Though
sickly and unable to get around without the help of others, Bill
still had an incredible sense of humor.
“The
old boys is still plugging along,” he wrote of himself, “still
perplexed with the quirks and complexities of my e-mail machine, but
loving to receive, laugh over and pass on the many jokes. . . I use
a cane, forget what I am saying in mid-sentence, would rather think
about projects than get started with them, can only read for short
periods, nap a lot and fight increasingly poundage.”
Bill
had lived a full life and knew the end was coming, but he did not
fear it. He was sentimental about friends like us who were too far
away to visit. “It makes me sad,” he wrote, “about the friends
I still have contact with but will never see again, but I happily
anticipate the welcoming committee that awaits me one of these
days.”
Bill
had reached the point in his life that I call the waiting shed. That
is the time when the body is shutting down and there is little
choice left except to sit and wait for the inevitable end to come.
Old people whose deteriorating bodies are racked with pain are not
fooled. They know that the time is near. In his last days, my dad
would say, “When God rings his little bell, it will be time to go
home.”
Bill
Eisert had another way of saying it: “I will leave it in his
hands. I have a sign on my little fridge: Man plans, God laughs.”
If
we can live and die like Bill Eisert, God will smile on us.
If
you have problems about drugs, alcohol and behavior/attitude call my
office at 820-6107 or 825-1771 or e-mail me at gvcbuenca@vasia.com
or write me at P.O. Box 2099 MCPO, Makati City.
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