That's nice, she said. I wasn't really looking for an answer. My words were grief-filled appreciation that our gathering and prayer during the week had drawn us into the fiery heart of what is good and worthwhile, however painful. Such is an experience of moral conversion. We embraced this anguished ordeal of burying my father because, although heart rending, it was good to do so.
Moral conversion is more than making choices between right and wrong.
So, although we did not choose my father's death, we did choose to be attentive to every moment of the passage. We chose to participate fully in the rituals of death and dying, believing that such rituals would reveal to us the meaning of this experience. I don't look for the meaning in some doctrinal fact, and not even as the relief of sadness. Actually, I have no words for the meaning that is being revealed. The meaning comes in savouring the memories and images of Dad's life and his death.