For example, one recurring occurrence that illustrated your integrity happened midway through every walk we took down Salisbury Road. As we got to the entrance of the Normanside Country Club, you would make a literal U-turn.
You explained that you had often “trespassed” on the course’s property after you first moved there. After being convinced by God that you had taken some liberty in this regard, you went to the club and asked permission. When it was denied, you humbly honored their wishes and never violated that again. You literally walked your talk.
You often used your walk to go door-to-door to collect for charities. Your sincerity brought out the generosity of the neighbors — many of whom you knew by name. I often witnessed this as you waved and called them by their first name during our many strides. I don’t recall a time when they didn’t wave back or stop what they were doing to talk with you.
Our strolls became fewer this past year. Yet, you took me on one final trek. Through your suffering in the Hospice Inn, you showed me how to die well. After that, you went on a walk that I could not accompany you on…at least not yet.
Your adopted “son,”
Robert J. LaCosta