I’m borrowing the title from a poem I read recently on someone’s blog. I can’t remember whose, so my apologies in advance.
“He Is Not Dead
I cannot say, and I will not say
That he is dead. He is just away.
With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,
He has wandered into an unknown land
And left us dreaming how very fair
It needs must be, since he lingers there.
And you—oh you, who the wildest yearn
For an old-time step, and the glad return,
Think of him faring on, as dear
In the love of there as the love of here.
Think of him still as the same. I say,
He is not dead—he is just away.”
― James Whitcomb Riley
My father-in-law passed away this morning.
It’s sad here in the hospital, but there are moments of levity. They’re talking about whether to bury him in his purple jacket, the one he once crowed that everyone loved, and I responded, “And you believe them?”
My father-in-law was one of a kind. He will be missed.