You couldn't run into Angelo—on the street, at the market, at the community center—without stopping for a word, without letting him draw a smile from you, even a laugh. Most people brush past each other, eyes down, pretending the other doesn't exist. Angelo wasn't like that.
It wasn't normal for Angelo not to notice when someone didn't greet him back, or when another person was sad, or angry, or alone. Most people stay locked in their own world, suffer in silence, and want to be left alone. Not Angelo.
It wasn't normal for Angelo not to strike up a conversation with anyone—and keep talking until you were tired of it—with those sharp little eyes and his warm, purring way of speaking. Most people avoid bothering others so they won't be bothered in return. That wasn't Angelo.
The normal thing would have been to run and save yourself from fire and smoke the other night. That's what normal people do. But Angelo stayed behind. He lost his life protecting his mother, the way she had protected him so many times. For normal people, it's not normal to give your life for someone else. Being normal isn't really very normal—and not being normal is the most normal thing of all. But who is truly normal and who isn't, in this story we call life?
Goodbye, Angelo. I miss you deeply, even from here.
Father Angelo (Canossian missionary in Nairobi) at the funeral Mass of Angelo and Rosa