Dear Bob and Children,

The message I received yesterday is one that, like you, I have felt in my bones had to come soon … as it did. (I think your mother set some kind of record for the length of time she spent on a dialysis machine before that help could no longer really help.) Whatever the faith we hold and, we hope, live by, we can agree that her end comes—to her and to each of you, not only as a huge sadness—but as a huge relief. Your father, most of all, has lived this next-to-last chapter of his life waiting on your mother hand and foot. Now you can help him make this last chapter a harvesting time, a time to celebrate your mother when she was well doing work she loved and able to give you dad and you kids some good memories.

Remembering back when she and your dad, my Helen and I were doing things together, I came across the attached letter that I think belongs to your family. I’m not proud of the Dick Henry who comes through the reading of it; in fact, I feel shame, remorse, and more than a little sadness at the human being I apparently was during the hottest days of the civil rights struggle—in fact, the kind of white liberal MLK Jr. described in his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” But I don’t give it to you to show what a fallible, arrogant guy I was. I share it to give you another piece of testimony of your mother’s extraordinary powers as a wise human being, and a very generous-hearted one.

I’ll be thinking of you each one on Sunday and many Sundays and other days as well. Help your dad heal the wounds of sadness that are inevitably part of remembrance, and choose to recall the good happenings you shared with one another. I send you all love and sincere wishes for your futures.

Rev. Richard Henry