On a Saturday morning in late February in the town of Tonawanda, New York, men and women bundled in heavy winter coats and parkas walked past waist-high piles of snow into a red-brick structure with stained-glass windows. Tall banners reading \u201cWelcome\u201d and \u201cRekindle\u201d framed the doorway.<\/p>\n
Family, friends and business associates sat in the pews of St Christopher Church listening to \u2018Days of Elijah\u2019, which refers to Ezekiel\u2019s vision of a valley of dry bones resurrected to flesh. The deceased was a gemmologist, by reports mild-mannered and helpful. He owned and ran a jewellery store in nearby Kenmore that had been in his family for three generations. The church had been the family\u2019s spiritual home for a quarter century.<\/p>\n
Earlier that month, the 53-year-old had walked out of his home and disappeared. Monsignor Fran Weldgen, a friend and one-time St Christopher pastor, addressed the assembled mourners. \u201cWords are difficult,\u201d he said. \u201cOur emotions are deep, raw. We\u2019re confused, hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was a funeral mass without a body; a memorial to a life whose final page was blank.<\/p>\n