Upwards

I saw him with my own eyes. Years had passed since his emigration. I did not know he was here. It is him. He has not changed. He was sitting in the middle of the Church, among the congregation, participating in the funeral of a mutual friend of ours. After the service, I offered my condolences, and entered the temple. I bid farewell to the priest of the Church, and went out. He had disappeared. I was certain that our eyes had met. Why did he leave without a word? I froze in my spot in the churchyard. One of our friends approached. I asked about him. He knew what was wrong with him. He told me, saying: “he had a relative accompanying him. They just took off in front of me. You should know. (…) is no longer able to see”! My countenance fell. He saw me. He said: "I am going to visit him tomorrow. Shall we go together"?. We agreed. I left the Church with grief eating me up. This is a new grief. When we grow old, we sleep on grief, to rise on another. There is no constant consolation in the world except that which comes from above, coming down from God. With eyes that see or do not see, we can only keep looking upwards.