Another November

As autumn days drift into another November, we remember that it's been five years since Eric left us. And yet, as time passes, it seems more and more evident that so much of him is still very much with all of us. Visible things like the very same lines of Keith's profile, something so familiar about Scott's eyes, their dark curly hair and strong muscular arms. His paintings that hang on the walls in all our houses. Wood carvings: animals, Boxing Day humming birds, burls turned into bowls and vases. The huge, majestic lion guarding everyone in Amy's house. My two carved carousel horses that children still love to climb on. Two cricket bats made from our old willow tree, a fishing pole, a golf club, tools of his life's livelihood, now in the boys' hands or in their own tool boxes. On someone's shelf a book of the poetry of William Barnes, or of Dylan Thomas. Some very old paints and paint brushes. An old cassette that includes "Mr. Woo's a Window Cleaner Now." Much more of great value -- things that now are a part of us, things he taught us and lived before us, like eyes that fill up hearing the words and music of glorious, old hymns. Joy at the happy result of growing flowers that attract humming birds and butterflies. His wonderful, gentle love and thankfulness for simple things. Like colorful birds and their songs. Growing anything from flowers to vegetables to a fruit tree. Refusing to cut the grass where buttercups sprang up. Enjoying all the roadside wild flowers. The movement of a little, golden fish just under the surface of a pond. And there are memories that make us laugh. "Beth, where did these funny, little trousers come from?" "It's Tuesday afternoon and golf is on. Beth, is this a new TV?" His charade endeavors, especially, "Hen Whizz". On the phone, "...this is Heathah's mothah...oh, my wife told me to say that." And each year now, Christmas isn't Christmas without "A Child's Christmas in Wales" even though we really miss his voice reciting it all. So many other things. Gifts he's left behind in his children (and seen now in the little grandchildren too). Interests, artisitic talents, quiet appreciation for so many things, gentle strength, so much of himself is here now with us and in us. And so, as we miss him, our smiles are bittersweet and yet also honest and knowing and expectant.
.....From the hymn "O Sacred Head, now wounded" by Bernard of Clairvaux, 1091-1153-- "Be near when I am dying, o show Thy cross to me; and for my succor flying, come, Lord, to set me free. These eyes, new faith receiving, from Jesus shall not move; for he who dies believing, dies safely, through Thy love."