Today at Georgetown, a perfect stranger came up to me and told me he offered his rosary every day for my sister Ruthie, and prays too that God will give him the grace to offer the same kind of witness she does in the way she’s dealing with her cancer.
I heard many fine and impressive words today from learned men about the affairs of the world, but those lines of comfort and tribute are what I remember most. Thank you, sir. And here I am, sleepless in my hotel room, thinking of her, sleeping a thousand miles away, the cancer remorselessly moving on, even as she rests in the bosom of her family.
This should not be. This is. The pity of it all.