A Friend I've Never Met

There are so many beautiful, moving tributes to Wm F Buckley Jr at the readers' tribute site ... http://rememberingwfb.nationalreview.com/ Here's one that especially speaks to my heart:

A Friend I've Never Met

Like many Americans these days, I get my first news each morning via the Internet. And like so many others, this means first clicking on National Review On-line. So it was most fitting this morning that I learned of Bill Buckley's death from your brief news alert.

I spent much of today reminiscing about the loss of a friend who I never met personally. I am one of the thousands of Americans Mr. Buckley touched in a deep and abiding way through his singular eloquence and signature erudition in untiring advocacy of conservative ideals and values. In the mid 1970s, though newly married and beginning to make my own way in the world, I found myself seemingly without the companionship of others who thought and felt as I did. Then I happened upon a copy of National Review, and found Bill Buckley and his sterling company of like-minded associates.

I had been thinking of Mr. Buckley the past several days. This is about the time of year that I begin looking for his remarkable solicitations for financial support. I will miss receiving these letters. Although I was able to respond only a few times the past 30 years, it was not for lack of wanting, or caring. I will miss these solicitations so very dearly, as I will miss him.

One year ago this week, my beloved paternal father died. Today, my beloved intellectual father died. Tomorrow, I turn 60. As the years inexorably pass, it begins to seem like death is not only not final, but is not lonely, either.

Randy Mazzeo, Martinsburg, West Virginia

Thanks, Mr Mazzeo ... for a moving tribute that speaks for me as well as for you.

Charles Delacroix
Friday in the 3rd Week of Lent

"Gratitude for those who have cared for us"

Rich Lowry's remembrance of William F. Buckley, Jr is titled "Gratitude" ... and includes this wonderful excerpt from Buckley himself ...“We need a rebirth of gratitude for those who have cared for us, living and, mostly, dead. The high moments of our way of life are their gifts to us. We must remember them in our thoughts and in our prayers; and in our deeds.” http://article.nationalreview.com/?q=NTExN2Y0N2Y5ZDAwN2U0MGYwNjc1NTViODNjZjY0NTQ=

Yes yes yes ... thank you once again Mr Buckley ... and thank you thank you thank you my dearest Momma ...

William F Buckley, Jr, R.I.P.

I just can hardly believe WFB has passed away.

He was of the same generation of Momma ... he was born in 1925, and Momma in 1921.

Oh God I can hardly believe how hard this all is ...

I love you Jesus ... and I love you and thank you for Momma ... and for WFB ...

I was one of thousands who have sent reactions to NRO ... here's my letter:

Dear Sir or Madam:

I heard the news about William F. Buckley, Jr's death last night as I was driving home from work. I started crying and couldn't stop crying for seeming hours. I still can hardly believe it. And here I am starting to cry again.

Yet the thought of his passing brings to me as many tears of gratitude as tears of sadness. I am deeply, deeply grateful for what this man has given to me. I have never met him in person; I have never corresponded with him. Yet I feel almost as I did when my dear mother died last year.

I was a callow 18 year old McGovernite, in 1972, my Freshman year at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, when I first encountered Mr Buckley's writings. Somehow I had found myself reading a copy of National Review in the library. It wasn't long before I bid leftism farewell forever. In about 1973 or 1974, I first subscribed to NR, and have been a continuous subscriber since then. Somewhere about the time I started reading NR, I was reading every book Mr Buckley wrote that I could get my hands on. I became an avid Firing Line viewer, and often wrote off for transcripts, which still fill out my large Buckley collection. I read not only his work, but the works of many, many others to whom he led me. I think Mr Buckley's enormous courtesy, as well as his intelligence and sharpness of wit, were I think what captivated me from the beginning. I read every one of his collections of columns, and later his sailing books, and a few of his novels. What a delight it was, and is, to read almost anything he wrote on any subject at all that piqued his interest. His books occupy a special and honored place in my library. All are such a delight; but I have to single out for myself his Odyssey of a Friend, chock full of the deeply moving Buckley-Chambers friendship, as one of my all time favorite books by anybody, anywhere, anytime.

Oh and now he is gone. What a loss, what an irreplaceable loss.

Yet at the same time what blessings he bestowed on me as on so many, many others. I can only hope and pray that it might be my privilege to meet him some day in a far better place than this vale of tears ... and vale of gratitude.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr Buckley. Now and always.

Sincerely and respectfully,

Charles

PS Rest in Peace. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.

6 months

6 months since your burial Momma ... oh oh oh ...

God have mercy on me ...

Oh Jesus please please please take good care of my Momma

Aching Aching Aching ... it just plain hurts ...

Oh Momma ...

Such a quiet quiet morning ... no breeze ... a bit cold, not freezing ... overcast, but not raining ...

Quiet at the cemetery ... so so so so quiet ...

I was aching the whole time ...

And then at the store I walked past that display of the little blueberry cinnamon muffins we always got ... you loved those so ... I haven't been able to get them since ... and still haven't ... but oh I could feel my sides actually aching, aching, aching as I walked past ... why aren't you here o Momma ... we would have loved these little muffins wouldn't we o Momma ... oh God how my whole body just aches and aches and aches ...

I did buy some bananas though ... it was hard ... I guess this is the first time Momma since you died ... oh Momma ... how horrible everything is without you here ...

I need to remember that this is 6 months ... 2 days ago was the 6 month Anniversary of your death on August 22 ... 3 days hence will be the 6 month Anniversary of your burial on August 27 ... and now ... now ... now, Here and Now ... is this horrible horrible time between Alpha and Omega ... not between Good Friday and Easter, but between Good Friday and Holy Saturday ... this life of Holy Saturday is in so many ways horrible but comprehensible ... a Dead God lying on a cold slab in a Tom is horrible but at least in a way comprehensible under the paschal light of the Holy Week that is Time ... but really this feels more like that cold, dark night of Good Friday ... a cold form crumbled and alone on a Cross before Nicodemus and the men and women have arrived, before the Tomb has been opened for You O Lord ...

O O O how it hurts ... it hurts ...

It hurts O Lord it hurts Momma it hurts

Oh God ... oh God ... oh in You is ALL my Hope, my Only Hope ...

Oh Jesus My Sole Hope have mercy on me and be with me O help me in my hour of need ...

I love you Momma

I love you Jesus

I love you

Oh God it hurts so much

It does it just hurts so much

So much

So much

O help me Lord to keep my eyes on Your Cross

On Your Way of the Cross

On Your Lenten Journey of pain and hurt

You said that a bruised reed You will not break

You said that a smoldering wick You will not quench

Oh Lord

I come before you a bruised reed and a smoldering wick

Oh Lord

Of Your Courtesy

Help me

Oh how it hurts

Oh how it hurts

Oh I miss her so so much

Oh God it hurts so much

Horrible, Horrible Catastophe

How else really to describe it ...

The pain is extraordinary, horrible ... and yet ... and yet ... it would be worse not to be in pain ...

Worse not to see catastrophe for what it is

Worse not to see horror for what it is

Momma I woke up this morning remembering so, so, so vividly what it was like to hug you and give you Coos. And I cried and cried and cried. Oh to be able to hug you and give you a Coo and bring you your tea.

I guess this email last night is what did it. A friend had announced in an online discussion group that his mother had died. Such a moving announcement. I had responded with condolences and recalled your own passing last August. He in turn responded and expressed hope that my own dear mother had greeted his own dear mother as she arrived in Heaven, and that there were hugs and welcome and laughter and joy in that greeting.

Oh Momma Oh Momma Oh Momma may it be so ... oh oh oh oh oh how I miss your hugs ...

From day one though thinking of you in Heaven has just been so so so so so hard ...

I know by God's Grace you must ... oh you must ... surely be there ... or on your way there ... at all events in a far far better place than here ...

I know ... but but but it just doesn't connect for me ... I don't know why ...

What connects for me is your absence here not your presence there ...

Oh oh oh oh I am truly ... truly happy for you ... that you are there ...

Oh oh oh oh but I'm lying, Momma, I'm lying ... I wish you were here ... oh in my head I am "intentionally" tho not by God emotionally glad you are there ...

But i miss you here

I miss you here

I miss you here so so so so so much

Oh God

Oh God

Oh Momma

Oh God of Your Divine Wondrous and Loving Courtesy please

please please please please please

take good care of my good Momma

Oh Lord Jesus have mercy on me

Oh Holy Mary Mother of God, Mother of Mothers, intercede for my dear Momma

And pray for me O Holy Mother of God

Now and at the hour of my death

Amen

I love you Momma

I love you Mary

I love you Joseph

I love you Jesus

I love you

Charles Delacroix
3rd Sunday of Lent