By David Sweet
His granddaughter called
In the morning with the news;
“Grandpa died yesterday.”
That explained the silence:
The usual phone calls from
And between the grandchildren
Had somehow ceased.
The lines weren’t down,
However, the feelings were.
Everyone had been waiting.
Now silent messages
Were being sent.
Not like the phone call you know is there
And you can just choose to let it ring.
These messages ring through;
Not to be avoided,
And not through the ears either.
They start somewhere near
The center of your soul.
Hiding them away won’t work,
Neither will ignoring them.
Gentle reminders of times past:
His laugh.
The twinkle in his eye.
Always striving, inventing,
Making, creating;
An artistry outside the painted
Or written word.
Maybe it’s the sum of his presence
That reaches out to us now.
Do we feel all of it
Or is there a little bit;
A very special part of remembrance
For each of us individually?
Somehow his gentleness comes
With the heartache.
Look around the edges
To the wonderful memories of him.
Whatever your message or recall,
He has sent comfort to surround.
He was tall,
But never looked down on anyone.
He had perseverance
And a large stride,
But never left anyone behind.
He shared his creations.
He invited people in;
Never turning anyone away.
He overcame adversity
And, like all of us,
Sought freedom.
Now it’s our turn:
Wrapped between our sorrows
And the private memories we cherish,
He’s there.
Thank him for his help,
And thank God for him.
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