I never really knew him in life, not in his prime at least. I'm leading Van's funeral today and I can't say I really knew him, but I barely know the people I help bury, or marry, or baptize. I'm a page in their long book, or maybe even a footnote.

I was with Van when he died, though, and there is something in that. I said the words. I touched his brow. I comforted his children and grandchildren. I cried with them.

The next day it snowed. I was sitting in the car with my son and we watched the snow come down on the car. We just sat there for ten or twenty minutes observing with some satisfaction and wonder the snow cover us. I felt warm as the car was embraced by snow. We were buried. We laughed, wiped the snow off, and went on with our lives.