By Andy Brack
Another death. Another funeral.
Another friend taken too early by that cruel, smarmy bastard – cancer. Another person whose throaty laugh and shining glint in the eyes are gone.
As we age, we encounter death more often, too often. Making sense of it, dealing with it and grieving about it is part of grappling with the lives we lead.
For many, funerals help the living. For others like me, they’re often dour occasions to be endured and gotten through as tributes to lives. They’re a way to pay respect to families, friends and the living.
This week’s funeral, however, offered something different in the familiar format – a poem that touched something deep inside. Poems, psalms, hymns and other biblical readings are standard parts of services. But this time, the short stanzas of one poem got through. Maybe these words will help you as you increasingly encounter deaths as you age. They’re from a short work called “Remember Me,” or sometimes listed in funeral programs as “She is Gone” (or “He is Gone” if the pronouns are changed):
You can shed tears that she is gone; or you can smile because she has.
You can close your eyes and pray that she will come back; or you can open your eyes and see all that she has left.
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her; or you can be full of the love that you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday; or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember her and only that she is gone; or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back; or you can do what she would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
Simple. Sad. Powerful. Calming. Majestic.
What is uplifting is how these few words can lead one to a conclusion that celebrating a friend’s life may be a stronger alternative than succumbing to grief and pain. The words offer a path toward moving forward.
The poem’s backstory adds more interest. It apparently became a popular piece for funerals after Queen Elizabeth II picked it to be part of her mother’s funeral in 2002. At that point, the author was attributed as anonymous.
But it wasn’t too long before news stories circulated that the author had been a bakery worker and aspiring artist in Carlisle, England, who wrote a slightly different version in 1981 as a poem of unrequited love, not as a funereal tribute. According to Wikipedia and other sources, he sent the piece to publishers for a while, but didn’t have any luck. He later stopped writing, but through the years, the poem, with some slightly changed words from the original, started circulating on the internet, later gaining renewed life at the Queen Mother’s service.
This week’s commentary obviously isn’t on the normal back-and-forth about politics and policy. But in these days in which there’s so much friction and division, reread the words and think about the times in which we live. Things might seem frustrating, sad or bad now – just as when someone dies – but there’s likely a way to look at things with fresh vigor, have hope and press onward to preserve our democracy.
Because without hope – especially in South Carolina – we can’t breathe and live fully.
Dum spiro spero. And goodbye, old friend.
Andy Brack is editor and publisher of the Charleston City Paper and Statehouse Report. Have a comment? Send it to feedback@statehousereport.com.
