This tough guy was the same man who liked to feed me champagne, popcorn, and chocolate in bed. The man who loved you so dearly that during the two weeks he had with you that August—the only two weeks—he barely slept. He preferred to spend that too brief time dancing around with you in his arms, taking you to the bookstore for story time, and simply watching you sleep. He rarely discussed his personal life at work, but after he died his soldiers said that they knew that when he was "working" in his office, he was often gazing at pictures of us.
His imposing presence was really a mask for his shyness. Simple things brought him pleasure: drawing pictures of me, starting the day in prayer, summer rainstorms.
Sometimes you get lucky and catch a rainbow.