
The Language of Us
Doris Falidis-Nickolas’ poetry beautifully captures love, loss, and remembrance, offering comfort to those navigating grief.
My father, Rev. H.N. Riber was an American missionary and Tea Plantation Manager, in India, for 26 years (1947-73). He, and 45 others died in an Indian Airlines domestic plane crash at New Delhi airport, after a flight from Chennai. He was enroute to Illinois, USA, on a surprise visit to his own father's 80th birthday. The crash occurred at 2210 hours local time on May 31, 1973. His charred remains were never identified (pre DNA science) despite my mother spending two horrific days trying in vain to identify him. He was a widely known and respected individual, who loved India, and showed others, by example, what a person of faith could do to improve the lives of disadvantaged people, regardless of their beliefs. Remembered today, and every day, by all who knew and loved him, especially his four surviving children, including myself, Karl.
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