He worried about his departure.
Not from his town or his state—-he worried about his departure from the planet.
There was so much that he had said while he was there. And—-there was so much that he had not said. Always wanting to put to words his burning emotions—-and always feeling that he had not been able to accurately do so.
Two lines from a Robert Frost poem kept surfacing: “Was something brushed across my mind/That no one on earth will ever find?” kept running and rerunning through his mind–piercing him. Piercing that ever-present, longing desire.
It was like this: “I always did the best I could do—-and—-it felt like it was rarely enough.”
Be at peace, then. If we believe–if we care–we do what we can. And it goes out through the furthest reaches of the universe and comes back, having been shared time and time again–having made a difference. And——–although we usually miss the reality that doing our best was enough——–the precise truth is that it was.
Rest now, and——–remember.