275 Hicks Street
Brooklyn, N.Y.
August 2nd 1927
Dearest Tilly,
Yesterday we buried poor Father in a little plot in the Cemetery of the Holy Sepulchre in Philadelphia which Ferdie and I selected. It is a particularly beautiful and peaceful spot, high among the hills of North Philadelphia.
He was conscious until within an hour of his death.
He passed away very quietly in the arms of Ferdie’s wife, to whom we all owe a debt of gratitude. She was with him every day for the last four weeks and did everything that a human being could do to make him more comfortable. Without a doubt she is one of the best women I have known.
He had Extreme Unction and all the last rites of the church two weeks ago. He was constantly praying for the last two weeks.
Father Donnelly, who was a great friend of his and to whom he made his last confession, told me yesterday that father mentioned Wally several times to him. He said something seemed to tell him that she was praying for him and that he would be with her very soon. He had a very peaceful expression on his face when he died, and I feel assured that he has won his place in Heaven.
It was wonderful to see how many friends he had. Dozens of children and grown people passed his bier all day Saturday.
Father asked for a low mass and as simple a ceremony as possible, but the church gave him a high mass and five of his pupils rendered a beautiful musical programme after the mass was finished.
Father Donnelly delivered a little panegyric also, praising his talent and acknowledging the benefits he had rendered the Parish.
I did not answer your cable immediately as we were waiting for the end, which we knew was approaching rapidly and there was nothing to be done at that time.
Your letter came today and it somehow brought with it a whiff of old Kinsale, and a host of memories of bygone times.
I only hope that some time in the near future I may be able to go over, when we can renew some of these memories.
Margot joins with me in thanking you for your kind wishes.
With best love to you, Aloys and Bubi.
Your loving brother Xaver.
(Aloys Fleischmann Diary, 7th August 1927)
