Gone from my sight… yet still here
At your memorial service, I read a Henry Van Dyke
passage on behalf of your sister, Leigh. My voice
trembled. I fought back tears. The passage was just
words on the page. Seashore. Ships. Blue ocean. Beauty.
Sky. I tried to just get through without breaking
down...
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning
breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object
of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until
at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just
where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!”
It’s been over two years since you left us. Shock.
Grief. Sadness. Remorse. Fatigue. Guilt. How could
that monster have done this to you? Why you and not
me? It doesn’t make sense. It will never make sense.
If only we could turn back time and do things differently
on that bitter cold, blustery, snowy night. “If only”
runs through my head every day…
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just
as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when
she left my side and she is just as able to bear
her load of living freight to her destined port.
You were shy and humble, but fiercely determined
- almost paradoxical. Your sensitivity and kindheartedness
protected your family, friends, animals and the environment.
I remember when we hiked Mt. Philo with my sister
and niece and you moved the fuzzy orange and black
caterpillar off the hiking trail to the bushes so
no one would step on it. You had empathy. You walked
in Leigh’s shadow at times, but you were able to carry
your own load on your own terms. You were passionate,
stubborn, tenderhearted, creative, sensitive, and
shaping your future…
Her diminished size is in me,
not in her. And just at the moment when someone at
my side says “There, she is gone!” there are other
eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to
take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!”
It’s been two years, but I still sense your presence
everywhere. In my vegetable garden as I tend to my
tomatoes, and on the hiking trail out my back door.
Dashing by me on your mountain bike, and sitting next
to me when I unfold my quilting fabric. I smile with
you as I buckle up my ski boots at the top of Rumrunner,
and I hear you laughing with us when Lawton tells
a silly joke.
You’re just gone from our sight. That is all…
And that is Dying.
And this is us carrying on your legacy and your memory.
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