Message from Massachusetts

Many people close to me lost loved ones over Christmas 2008. One friend still grieves the suicide of his 30-year-old cousin, someone whose family say was the last person they believed would ever take his own life. Then there was the Christmas Eve death of my friend Van Laskey’s brother-in-law, Colonel John Gioia USAF Ret. A successful air Force officer and self-made multi-millionaire, Colonel Gioia was above all, a true American patriot and icon.

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Christmas Eve notwithstanding, Col. Gioia’s death did not go unnoticed. “There was a memorial service Saturday attended by hundreds of Conservative luminaries from the DC area, including two ex-governors and a former U.S. Senator who is a pal of mine: George Allan and his wife,” Laskey, known to most as “Sarge” wrote me this this morning. “My nephew gave a heroic eulogy and said that his father was the last John Wayne. ‘Duke couldn’t hold a candle to Col. Gioia. Duke played an F-86 Sabre Jet pilot. Colonel John Gioia really was one.’” I was in Cape Cod Christmas Eve when an email from my friend Jaak Viirland sent word that my “adopted” Mother Bobbi was not doing well. On the day of my return home came the sad news that Bobbi had died. Even though Bobbi had spent the last few years in a nursing home, her death saddened me and too many others to count. In one of those true-life-is-stranger-than-fiction coincidences, our mutual friend Hamilton Spectator reporter Paul Legall wrote her obit as his last piece for the Spectator, from which he is now officially retired. Legall’s headline, “Countess was generous, lively” and his words ”There’s no doubt the Romanian-born countess had packed a lot of living in her 88 years,” somehow soothed me. “Born into an aristocratic family, she quickly established herself as a child prodigy by holding her first art show in Bucharest when she was only 11. She had a charmed upbringing with doting parents, an active social life and travels to Italy and France to study art. But her well-protected world of wealth and privilege was shattered when the Communists overran the country after the Second World War.” Legall’s quotes from friend Jaak Viirland, who had known Bobbi since the late 1950s, brought back many personal memories. Remembering how often he saw cars lined up in her driveway at all times of the day and night, “she had an open door policy,” Viirland recalled. “You could meet anybody there, from a Romanian diplomat to a welfare recipient.” These memories were discussed, accompanied by chuckles during a service held for Bobbi on Jan. 2. With Bobbi gone, her painting of an Eskimo over my fireplace, is an every day reminder of one of the most generous people I ever knew. But an inspiration, born in a North Easton, Massachusetts cemetery on Christmas Eve morning, came back to me when I returned home from the service, its timing underscored forever. After posting the story of my chance Dec. 24 encounter with a lady called Robin on Christmas Day, I wondered if Robin would find it. (Story here.) After not finding her email in incoming mail, I came to assume that Robin hadn’t seen the story and because I did not have her email address or telephone number, was also forever lost to me. This is the message I picked up on my Blackberry on the evening of Jan. 2:

“Christmas this year was changed for me after meeting Judi and her colleague. I was deeply moved when Judi gave me the rosary beads. It obviously meant a lot to Judi that my daughter and I had helped them with their search for Fr. Peyton’s stone but, I don’t know if Judi knows how much it meant to me. My drive back home that day left me reflecting on how the smallest acts of kindness mean more in life than all the running around to get gifts for Christmas. And, when it comes right down to it, we should all take the time to be kind to one another and see the goodness that comes from it. Our chance meeting that day and making a connection with a complete stranger gave me a spiritual lift. Christmas was better this year because of that day. I keep Judi’s friend in my prayers and Judi, of course.”

A chance encounter in a North Easton cemetery on Dec. 24 made for the most beautiful Christmas I ever had. But now, I shall never forget how it followed me back to Canada to reappear in a message of true hope in one of the saddest moments of my life!

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