A 14 year old lad lost his step father yesterday, who he called Oncle. He was in a rage, a wreck. His real father died when he was 4. He felt alone.

My friend said to him

“Papa and Oncle are like the lilac. Papa is gone. Oncle is gone. When the lilac is gone we are reminded of it’s beauty because we remember, in the back of our mind, it’s wonderful perfume.”

Afterwards the boy stopped and was still.