This week's Thursday Prompt was hard, but rewarding. I thought of my "uncle" Cecil, who lived with my family for awhile. He was a truly good man who lit up the room. His pain (he was on dialysis) made him kinder, not bitter.

As usual, I wrote the first draft on paper. I might be awhile typing it up; bear with me. (I know you will.)

Our meeting was providential. I'd come from an area rife with black gangsters; were it not for this sweet, kind black man I might have become a racist.

But when you 're young, all you know is that Uncle Cecil sees you, smiles and booms, "My joy!" That's what he always called me. I didn't have to get good grades or look my best; I was (and am) his joy. And I believe deep down that that's how God sees us: as kids who just need someone to love them.

We usually tell the dead to rest in peace. I want Cecil to run and dance and do the things he'd do in his youth. I want to dance with him.

Let me close with a few lines from Brian Jacques.

There you'll wait, O my beloved
Never knowing want or care
And when I have seen my seasons
We will walk together there.

"Farewell", Pearls of Lutra