I was reminded today (thanks, Aunt Carol!) about a piece that my aunt wrote after my grandfather died. I was only four when he passed away, and my memories of him are fleeting. This piece is beautiful in its simplicity, and I think it's worthy of being seen by whomever will take the time to read it.
He died on a Saturday morning. He went quickly and quietly through a narrow door that separates breath from silence. He knew only a little pain.
He lived as he died, quietly, easily, unafraid.
He lived with faith and hope in a world of despair.
He lived with happiness and love in a world of hate.
He lived with pride in a world of disgrace.
He lived with patriotism in a world of anger, with peace in a world of turmoil, with loyalty in a world of deceit.
He lived with optimism in a world of pessimism: he saw blue skies in a world of black clouds.
He lived simply in a world of confusion, kindly in a world of cruelty, relaxed in a tense society.
He loved the young, with all their ignorance and all the stars in their eyes that reflected the twinkle in his own.
He loved laughter amid tears of pain and despair.
He loved blue: blue eyes, blue skies, blue seas in a world growing black with fear and pollutants.
He loved a puppy, frisky and bright and eager to try whatever he asked of her. He loved the love she returned to him.
He loved a wife and family that tried to show the love they knew for him, as he loved the children of his children who told him of love in their laughter.
He died on a Saturday morning. He left no will, no money. But in his death he left a wealth of love.
He was my dad.
~ Darla-Jean Ogg