Rev. Danny Fisher

The author (seated) with Mae Hoffman Fisher (standing).

I lost my grandmother yesterday.

It was expected, though not really this quickly.

She was many things, among them a librarian; a cancer survivor; and a very stereotypical grandparent in her sweetness, generosity, and unconditional love.

I remember one of the few visits we had where it was just the two of us.  I had gone to New Jersey to try to be helpful after her first bout of health problems about ten years ago.  At this point, I had committed myself seriously to Buddhist practice and study, and had recently come back from a semester living abroad in a Burmese monastery in India.  We were in the car one day, and she, a devout Catholic, asked out of the blue, “Is compassion important in Buddhism?”

“Yes.”

“Looking after people, being a good neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Well, O.K.”

That Christmas, I received a large box from my grandmother.  I had no idea what to expect, and opened it to find a beautiful Buddha statue.  I still have it to remind me of the loveliest interfaith encounter I ever had:  the one with my grandma.