Mr. Harkin’s Departing Message

          At the head of the bus, Mr. Harkin gave his final farewell, quoting the man from Enniskillen to calm the devastated and terrified people running back and forth not knowing what to do when the bomb left loved ones in a bloody rubble. Faith, he told them, is a refusal to panic.

        And so I say to you, if it’s a faith in God or a faith in humanity either: Faith is a refusal to panic.

        He left us with a benediction: In your lives, may life triumph over death, hope over despair, and love over hate.

        This is a man so loved, I cannot even convey it. Last night he got ever more loopy, doing laps in an office chair and having a wide-legged bear chase with one of his students, who invited, as he invites so many, a group of students into his office for a mad hatter tea party with jester and constable and tea cozy and tiny hats and more, the office also a gallery of inspiring quotes and pictures of students and friends and the many knickknacks he’s invariably given, no secret power sanctum here, just a beating and welcoming heart.

        Students hugged and hugged him.

        I know our student visitors will miss their Oakgrove friends. They will miss this man no less, and perhaps more, but they will also carry what’s capable inside of us by the model of his embrace of sorrow and joy.

        At last, he sang a farewell song.

        The power of sincere vulnerability in music, its quiet humility and evident love, was the prayer we didn’t know we needed. Oh, did we cry to hear him and then to see him go. 

The time has come to say goodnight, 

for every road must end,
to the ones who care and they’re always there, 

our very special friends.
Let’s say goodnight to those we love, 

and maybe shed a tear,
but before we close let’s think of those

we love who can’t be here.
Let's raise a glass to absent friends,
For every road must end. 
You'll always be there in our hearts—
Our special absent friends.