Holiday Road: A Moment of Pause

We had to make a stop in Lexington for a night while on our way back to my wife's farm for the holiday. You see, her great uncle Ben died last week, and we absolutely had to pay our respects. Uncle Ben was a famous doctor here in Kentucky, and his death means my dearest's grandfather is the only sibling left. His other brother died two months ago, which means it has been a very un-fun winter thus far in the Crawford household.

I hate funerals. I hate hospitals. I shun just about anything dealing with death. I just don't handle that well. But I would be remiss if I didn't compliment and speak about the lovely service Uncle Ben got. Plus, he deserved the 50-70 people or so who showed up in 15-degree weather to say goodbye. My wife and I were saying farewell to a man who cooked up dinner while we were in college, who let us swim in his pool and do laundry for free. It's the little things, I always say, and Uncle Ben came through while not always getting the proper thanks. He was that kind of good man.

He lost a long, valiant battle with Alzheimer's, but I'm sure he's baking his French bread and making everyone smile. And while I loathe hospitals and funerals, I could not help but recognize the peacefulness of hearing birds chirp in the silence, the wind passing through branches struggling to hold their leaves in winter's grasp. The serene sound of taps being played out through the military color guard. And if nothing else, the beautiful words to a poem I had not heard previously, but will always remember.

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on rippened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Ashley Morris

Well said.