Semper Fidelis

My grandfather passed away last Saturday, the 22nd.  I feel like it hasn’t hit me completely yet.  The weekend and the days that followed are all a blur of tears and flowers and too many people touching me.  Hugging me.  Telling me they’re sorry.  People I didn’t even know…

There are so many things to say in his honor and yet I don’t have the words.  I simply don’t.  I will never hear bagpipes the same way ever again.  I’ll never look at an American flag with the same eyes.  I fear my heart will break a little every time I see my grandma from this point forward.

We watched him waste away over the past 6 years as he suffered from Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s.  We witnessed him, slowly but surely, forget the names (and eventually the faces) of everyone who loved him most.  In that way, I’ve been mourning him for a long time.  Always fearing that I existed in his memory as someone who never came to see him simply because he couldn’t recognize me.  That broke my heart.  It still does.

The last coherent thing he ever said to me, long after he had forgotten who I was, was “Where’s your jacket?”  Like he knew I was someone to look after, but wasn’t quite sure where I came from.  Eventually though the sense all ran out, and the words did too after some time.

I wish that everyone in the world would take a page from his book.  Make your word impeccable.  Put your family first and protect them fiercely.  Be faithful and loving until your very last breath.  Treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect and help everyone you can, even those who can do nothing for you.  Especially those who can do nothing for you.  I have never met anyone with as strong a moral compass as his.  Not a soul.  

To me, he has always been the epitome of what a man should be, and I think it will always stay that way.  He was a hero and a gentleman and I can only hope to live my life with the kind of strength, humility, and humor he’d be proud of.

Love you Gramps, and I promise to never drive while angry or upset.  To aim for the arrows when I bowl, feed the birds, and to “be happy.”  See you when I get glasses.

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.

Aaron Freeman “You Want A Physicist To Speak at your Funeral”

(source: npr)

“We who mourn continue the heat of our own lives”. Damn.

(via lonelyheartsdeathmetal)

Oh, just perfect and wonderful and makes me want to cryinagoodway.

(via fridayfelts)

So, so beautiful.

(via dawningmama)

(via mymilkspilt)

When a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral.

All moments past, present, and future always have existed, always will exist.
— Kurt Vonnegut (via loveyourchaos)
I could introduce myself properly, but it’s not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.
— Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (via llibre)

(Source: commovente, via teachingliteracy)