Six weeks after my brother's death, the night came for Dad to die. The doctor came in telling us he could do nothing for him. And then, with a gasp, Dad took his last breath. The air was still and yet there was a Presence larger than life as Dad left his body. The Presence was palpable and real, yet unseen. I did not trust this, yet I knew it to be true. "It feels like a birth," my sisters said... Years later, I was sitting at my desk. Suddenly, I heard a voice, my father's voice. There was no one physically there. And yet, I heard my father speaking to me. "Bobby and I are together now. We are doing fine. We're with you more than you think."
In both marriage and the single life, the celibate moment may be experienced intensely when we discover in each other an ultimate inner solitude that only the transforming presence of God can penetrate. In celibate concern we do what we can to foster in one another's mutual transformation. We stand in awe before the unspeakable mystery of any person's brief life on earth. We choose to love and go on loving until we pass over in silence to the bliss of eternity.