The bells toll this morning for my friend, Patrick (An Air That Kills), who died last night.
For solace, I turn to this meditation written in the 17th century by John Donne.
No man is an island, entire of himself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontorie were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. Therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.