For Conor
A few days ago, I accompanied my wife to her favorite Christian charity, and there was a new face behind the service counter. “Where is Conor,” she asked the new attendant. “He’s not on duty?” Conor was the guy who normally met. An Irish man, he was always bubbly and made everyone feel welcome. He even learned to pronounce my wife’s name. “Boooola,” he would boom, and laugh aloud at himself. “He’s gone,” was the reply. “Gone, where?” “Gone back…