I met Pops over a simple dinner at a chain restaurant in Arlington Virginia many years ago. It was the evening before our semi-annual Sorrow to Strength Conference, and Pops’ daughter, Pina, was attending for the first time. Her husband had been killed on his way to work when he was hit by a semitruck. My husband and I met her, her Pops and her mom, Veronica, for dinner to provide support and comfort, so she wouldn’t feel alone attending the conference the next day.

Of course she really wasn’t alone at all. She had her mom and her Pops, a retired Air Force Veteran, who pushed her around hilly Washington DC for the four days of the conference in a wheelchair because she was recovering from knee surgery.

But, getting back to Pops.

After dinner that night the waitress asked if we wanted desert. “Do you have any ice cream?” Pops asked. They did, but a limited variety. He hesitated. “I’ll have some if you do,” I said. They didn’t have his favorite flavor, but he decided we’d indulge because, he said grinning wide, “there’s no such thing as bad ice cream.”

I’ve never forgotten those words, or Pops, though we spent only a few days together.

Pops died last week at the age of 86, and yesterday his family and friends said their last goodbye. I remembered him in my own way, by picking up a container of his favorite flavor and indulging for a few moments, while thinking of him and his family.

There’s no such thing as bad ice cream.

I share this memory with you to honor Pops, in a way. He was a good, upstanding person with a sweet soul who made this world a better place. Thank you for your service, sir. And for joining me in a scoop of ice cream all those years ago.

Godspeed.