He was a well read, and self-educated man.
His grasp of basic quantum mechanics,
and cosmology, was phenomenal.
An advocate of progress and scientific development,
he abhorred retrogression in a society.
As an intelligent man he understood
that our highest accolade was to learn,
and to teach.
Alone, in a religious society,
he came to understand, and embrace,
the concept of atheism, and humanism.
His life reflected these concepts.
He did not reject religious superstition willy-nilly,
but only after careful thought, study,
and multitudinous discussions,
some heated, some calm and reasoned.
He was content with his decisions,
and his life reflected that contentment.
Diminished by his insidious disease
with the pain roaring through mind and body,
he had no strength to reflect, to contemplate,
to regret.
His family stayed near, but ultimately
he was alone with his anguish.
The whispered prayers, and quiet sadness
of religious kin, dripped into his failing consciousness
as, with a final act of love,
he accepted the exhortations,
and let their Jesus offer them,
not him, a final comfort.
Somewhere in the multiverse,
he hunts duck, moose, deer,
and converses with Bertrand Russell,
and Robert Service and Jack London
are pleased to receive his critique
of their work.
There is no sign, in this iteration,
of manna,
of harps,
of milk and honey.
Elsewhere, through time and
Mandelbrot spirals,
a grandson recognises and
accepts the greatness,
the strength, the determination,
the intelligence
of this good man,
and continues to think,
and to question.
Always.
