Read at Whit's memorial:
Hands holding hands, arms embraced, lives entwined, the fabric we share as a human race
In all things done boundaries stretched, each path pursued the soul will test
Heart’s twisted from forces unseen, unnamed; rend from us tears of love and pain
Given sight we stumble, seeing through a prism, given freedom we hesitate and ourselves imprison
What is death’s share of the bargain we make
Wings or flesh, does it give or take
Answers hidden, knowledge in a language unspoken, humanity rises in waves unbroken
Timed to a silent metronome, each wave of life crashes on death’s shore
Breakers uncovering crystals of sparkling sand sliding back into Mother Sea once more
In the face of this spectacle, as answers are sought, there is reawakening to my sense of purpose and thought
A time of remembrance that I am not the sand, the wave nor the sea, but rather, they are me
So we are not Whitney but now he is us. He has been consumed and integrated into each of us that know him. He is nourishing to our beings isn’t he? Between the moments of anguish and ecstasy isn’t life a magnificent struggle? Clarity of purpose and meaning are gifts bestowed to few of us. Questions will always outnumber answers. Pain often outpaces pleasure. It can be hard to feel, let alone measure the benefits that we earn through hardship. While clothed in these human forms we’ll never fully understand what lies behind life’s curtain. But I often think that this life is a lesson in love. In giving, receiving, sharing and expanding our capacity to love under the most trying circumstances
3 comments:
Simply beautiful. And true.
I still think of Whit .. this is a very touching and beautiful piece. I was lucky and able to talk to Nina some more about Whit recently... he touched many people with sometimes only a short note or word to them ... he was a beautiful person!
My dearest Jeff,
All of my sympathies are with you. I only heard just a few days ago and I am terribly sorry that I was not there for you and your family sooner. I often over many of the last few years thought of Whit and Maryl and the family from Golden with whom all my fondest childhood memories are shared. It was a only a few weeks ago that while looking over some old photos that I found a picture of Whit, not more than five, in that little red firetruck driving it down our driveway. Or the picture from the carnival that we had in your front yard where Max and Whit smoked plastic cigars. The forts that we made. The lemonade stands where we most certainly cost you money. I've always held such love in my heart for Whit and the pain that overwhelms me now is truly incomparable to that which you are going through. I want you to know that for so many years of my life, your son was a dear dear friend to me, and he's always someone I think of with the fondest of memories. Please give Maryl a million hugs and kisses from me. And know that I'm in awe of the beautiful talented prose that arose from Whit's hardships, and I deeply regret that I didn't better know your son as a man.
All of my love,
Tess Warner
warnerdesigns@yahoo.com
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