John Paul II

Over the years I've found I have a warped view of death, no matter whose. I say that because I react to it differently than anyone else I know. My reaction isn't indifference, but I don't become overwhelmed with sadness.

Pope John Paul II was an amazing man. He flew in the face of communism at a time when the U.S.S.R. could have squashed him like a bug, if they so desired and were that stupid. He held his ground and his conscience in the face of many who wanted to liberalize the church he lead. He spoke out against anti-semitism, and especially Christian anti-semitism, unaftraid to look in his own backyard and find the fault there. He didn't make me proud to be a Catholic, but he made my existing pride stronger and influenced many of my views.

Having said that, I have no overwhelming desire to pack myself up and make a pilgrimage to Rome. Don't get me wrong. I'm up for a little European Vacation, hang with the throngs in St. Pete's square for a day to say goodbye to the the man who really was 'da man', and maybe follow that up with a trip to one of those Roman golf courses and whack the little white ball in between the vinyards, cap it all off with a few days in Mallorcia, scarfing down paella and enjoying some scandinavian breasts, sunny side up, but don't these people have jobs? I want to stand and be counted as one who will miss him and his leadership, and as such would attend a service honoring the man if one is offered, but once there, I won't shed a tear. I will celebrate the man who was, and take comfort in where he is now, but I won't be saddened by the inevitable. The man lived a full and joyous life, and I am happy for him. He now rests in heaven, and I am happy for him. I can't see much to cry over.