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The phone rang, abruptly snapping me out of my daydream. It was a call from my aunt, and the sharp ping of worry that usually accompanies her calls (she has had the dubious honour to shatter my world multiple times) didn’t prepare me for the life-altering news.
‘Father Nikolay is dead; he passed away this morning.’
The news, like a summer wildfire, spread across the community. The parish was stunned into silence. Nothing made sense; the universe didn’t compute. Unexpected end of file.
We all knew that day would come eventually, but nobody expected it to come so early. “Eventually” would be at some point in the nebulous future, when he’d be 90 and we’d still go to seek his advice.
Father Nikolay dedicated over 40 years to the temple “Protective Veil of the Mother of God.” That was his home. All those years, he took care of the thousands of people who walked through the doors of his church.
Over the years, he built a strong community — my community. This is where I grew up.
I learned about life there — the basics — babies got christened, adults got married, and the elderly got funerals.
Occasionally, the natural order would change — adults would be christened, the elderly would get married…
