Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Awakening to find she's gone to sleep.

I have seen that the end is the hardest part.
Bodies cannot leave the world they know. They don't know what the soul knows to be true. Bodies never sleep; they don't believe. The ethereal tugs at the flesh like a bird on a leaden chain, "let me go, I see it now, it's time to leave..." and then, loosening like a fraying cord, with words of love, a benediction of release, it flies.

To say that I will miss my Grandma Laughton has the ring of tin on my tongue. I know, we all know it is so much more than "miss". Our family is left to remember her by the imprints she made in our memories and hearts, by the ripples of her life that will spread infinitely through stories and photographs, to the generations to come.

Goodbye, Grandma.


Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
Of evening over brake and bloom
And meadow, slowly breathing bare

The round of space, and rapt below
Thro’ all the dewy-tassell’d wood,
And shadowing down the horned flood
In ripples, fan my brows and blow

The fever from my cheek, and sigh
The full new life that feeds thy breath
Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death,
Ill brethren, let the fancy fly

From belt to belt of crimson seas
On leagues of odour streaming far,
To where in yonder orient star
A hundred spirits whisper ‘Peace.'


There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho’ my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell.


O living will that shalt endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock,
Rise in the spiritual rock,
Flow thro’ our deeds and make them pure,

That we may lift from out of dust
A voice as unto him that hears,
A cry above the conquer’d years
To one that with us works, and trust,

With faith that comes of self-control,
The Truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved,
And all we flow from, soul in soul.

- From Alfred Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam A.H.H."

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