Dean Gaskill
August 20, 2005
Yesterday morning, very early in the new day, Dean Gaskill died. I wish I could have called him a friend, but that wouldn’t be true. We hadn’t known each other long enough and he was the kind of man who had friends – true friends, people with whom he had shared his life and work and who, upon waking this morning, feel the profound emptiness of loss while I can only wonder about a life I had but glimpsed from the edge of a day.
I know this much; he was a man people loved and that quality derived from some place deep within him. I don’t know if it was confidence or inner peace or love of life but it was a disposition that caused his footsteps on this earth to be gentle, but the footprints he left quite deep.
Yesterday morning, very early in the new day, Dean Gaskill died. I wish I could have called him a friend, but that wouldn’t be true. We hadn’t known each other long enough and he was the kind of man who had friends – true friends, people with whom he had shared his life and work and who, upon waking this morning, feel the profound emptiness of loss while I can only wonder about a life I had but glimpsed from the edge of a day.
I know this much; he was a man people loved and that quality derived from some place deep within him. I don’t know if it was confidence or inner peace or love of life but it was a disposition that caused his footsteps on this earth to be gentle, but the footprints he left quite deep.
posted by Berlinbound at 12:06 PM
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