Opinion | A Minnesota Benedictine monk leaves the message: I see you. You matter.

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How ironic in our unprecedented era of quick-click connectivity and online “friend”-making, isolation abounds. In 2023, the U.S. surgeon general declared an epidemic of loneliness, while Gallup revealed in 2024 that daily loneliness among U.S. adults hit a two-year high. This year, Harvard research found that less than half of young Americans feel a sense of community — only 17% say they’re deeply connected to one.

Separation or loss can make loneliness suffocating. And it can leave us hardened and isolated in distrust’s chasm. It increases risks of depression, heart disease, stroke, diabetes and dementia. Isolation weakens communities. Learning, creating, helping, caring and loving — these come from human connection, not digital imitation.

The Rev. Don Talafous, a Minnesota Benedictine monk who died in April at age 99, leaves gifts we need now — regardless of faith or belief — to build connections only humans can. Though he freely admitted he didn’t have every answer, he offered many that can help awaken the communal spirit within us all.

For more than 80 years at St. John’s University in Collegeville, Father Don practiced presence — remembering names, listening, observing and sharing. He made you feel seen — not scanned. Heard — not just replied to. Known.

He arrived in Collegeville from Denfeld High School in Duluth in 1943 as a curious 17-year-old freshman. After becoming a priest, he taught in the Bahamas and the Bronx before returning to Minnesota, where his decades-long “parish” was the students of St. John’s and St. Ben’s. He held titles such as theology professor and chaplain — but his most enduring role was friend.

I first met Father Don in college when he simply said hello. He took this mindful pause thousands of times yearly with hundreds of people. His warm greeting usually started a conversation — then another, and then more. He remembered your name, then your story. Person by person, generation by generation. You felt you mattered to him, because you did.

After graduation, I moved to California. Alone, I arrived home after work to a bulging envelope in my mailbox. The return address read: D. Talafous. Inside was a handwritten note atop eight double-sided pages of intricately woven updates from people worldwide — all once greeted by Father Don.

His alumni newsletter contained far more than milestones and book reviews. Between births and weddings were short vignettes — glimpses into the most vulnerable parts of life, shared with someone trusted to carry them.

A father mourning his dead child. A marriage painfully unraveling. A terminal cancer journey ending. A soldier yearning for a simpler time and place.

Each reflection made you pause — and sit with what people carry. We all carry something. We are together in this way, if we notice.

Father Don’s writing was an act of observation — his way of seeing and connecting lives across continents and decades, often through his daily reflections published online for readers worldwide.

Written from a Catholic, Benedictine perspective — yet never preachy or judgmental — his words offered warmth and hope, drawing believers and skeptics alike. In his 90s, doing his best work, he published his fifth and final book — aptly titled “Musings” — a collection of reflections.

He saw names like Cheung and Cortez alongside Kowalski and Schmidt in the student directory and viewed diversity as a bridge, not a threat — a way, in his words, to “build bridges and decrease racism, intolerance and discrimination.” He spoke from experience, as a world traveler who always seemed to bump into someone he knew — whether in the Himalayas or Highland Park.

As a chaplain, Father Don often encountered people in their loneliest moments. In one reflection he wrote of loneliness, and asked:

“… Can we do or be something for others caught in this misery? I was lonely, emotionally crushed, and e.g.: “You came to my help? You comforted me? You befriended me? You consoled me? You joined me in the cafeteria? You … ?”

Yes. Yes, we can. And only we — not AI or machines — can truly cure loneliness.

“At my age, surely not far from death,” Father Don once wrote, “I try to act on the belief that the best preparation is generous, loving use of the present, of time and of opportunities … . Live life, live it now with generosity, hope, gentleness, and joy.”

Father Don’s hello — and goodbye — said it all: I see you. You matter. He offered that connection even when carrying losses that a life of 99 years brings. That’s where real connection begins — and loneliness begins to end.

Eric Schubert, of West St. Paul, is a teacher who previously spent nearly 30 years in communications.