Thoughts on politics and current affairs
Flemming’s memorial service can now be heard in audio. See the In Memorium page.
I intend to keep this website online indefinitely, and will be adding material to it as I go through his papers and computer files. ~ Heather Holm
Dear Heather & Family
My condolences to you and your family on the passing of your father.
Flemming was a tremendous spirit admired and appreciated by all who knew him. His passing is a great loss for all. A grateful province is thankful for his contribution. May you find comfort and peace at this difficult time.
Darrell
At Abercrombie Cemetery
About 40 people attended Flemming’s burial ceremony at Abercrombie Cemetery in Pictou County on October 18, 2009: immediate family, old friends, cousins and more distant relatives, retired ministers etc.
At Flemming’s suggestion, we buried his ashes between his parents, and we will have his name inscribed on the back of their tombstone. It’s very fitting for them to be buried together, as the three of them came to Canada together Denmark in 1929, not knowing if and when they’d ever be able to go back and visit (they did, but only 30 years later), and made their way here in the “new world” as a family unit.
Digging the grave
We – his children, grandson, his nephew Danny and his son, grandnephew Brad Parker, and spouses – dug the grave ourselves, between his parents’ ashes. Even the kids (Malcolm and Guillermo) put their backs into it. We felt the digging was important, as we were striving to ground and make as real as possible our experience of a loved one’s death, rather than leaving the work to others. For most of us, it was our first experience of the death of an immediate family member.
Rev. Ivan Gregan talking with Steve, Heather, Malcolm and Mike
Rev. Ivan Gregan delivered a full, rich Christian service of committal. Notable moments included a prayer of confession when we were asked to silently confess anything that lay between us and Flemming, and assurance of forgiveness.
We sang, a capella, “Hold me, hold me, never let me go, hold me like the leaves at the ends of the branches. And when I die, let me fly, let me fly, let me fly like the leaves when they’re falling.”
Mike holding the urn, which he built.
We passed the cross-shaped urn holding his ashes (they’re bone fragments, really) around the circle. This was a very moving experience for each person in their own way, to feel his weight, to carry him a moment in death, to say something quietly, to feel a moment of personal closeness. When the urn returned to my brother Mike, it felt to me that the circle had been closed – a sense of completion and unity.
My cousin Danny, who is native Columbian, and his son Guillermo, whose mother was Mi’kmaq, put a crown of sweetgrass and a dreamcatcher on the urn.
Then my brother laid it in the ground. We could see the edge of our grandmother’s urn there; Flemming’s urn lies right beside her and a little deeper.
Then as Danny and Guillermo offered sacred tobacco to the grave, Danny looked up and remarked on the young eagle that had been circling overhead for a while. Danny told me later that a young eagle signifies means that Flemming was young again.
My Dad was like a second father and a mentor to Danny.
Little girls danced on his grave.
We filled in the hole ourselves, and little girls danced on the sods to tamp them down. Children dancing on his grave – you can imagine him laughing.
Then we retired to the home of Flemming’s cousin Hasse and Susan Lindblad for a lovely reception, with a chance to meet old friends and extended family.
Two days later, because of a mix-up with car keys, I was back in New Glasgow and had a chance to visit my great-aunt Emilie (“Mille”) Lindblad, who is 92 and was unable to leave the nursing home. She is totally “with it” mentally, however, and we were both glad for the visit.
Heather Holm
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THE FAMILY OF THE REV. FLEMMING HOLM
Dear Heather, Pamela, Michael, Carol, June and all the extended Holm Family:
It was with I profound sense of sadness, mixed with a note of celebration, that we received the news of Flemming Holm’s recent passing.
We appreciated the heads-up which arrived by email and somewhat prepared Sadie and me for the news that came on Thanksgiving Sunday.
I’m writing on behalf of the Pine Hill Alumni Association, of which he was a valued member, to express our condolences on the passing of a beloved father and family member.
Flemming will be greatly missed, not only by former parishioners and clients whom he served so well, but by his many colleagues in ministry.
He was a faithful and effective worker in church and community at many levels of life. He contributed freely of his leadership abilities, wise counsel and incisive commentaries on life, always with a great passion for justice and compassion for the marginalized.
Our association was honoured to number Flemming among our Alumni of the Year. I have happy recollections of the summer day at Berwick when he became our Alumnus of the Year for 2003. I also remember, Heather, the way you spoke movingly of the warm personal delight which this honour gave to your father and the whole family. I am so happy Flemming and I had an opportunity to have a phone conversation this past summer regarding the planning of our next alumni reunion in 2010 in Liverpool. There are many other memorable experiences shared over a number of years, such as the week we spent in Gardiner Mines, Cape Breton. We were facilitating a multicultural education lab with leaders of many diverse backgrounds from across the island. He had an amazing capacity to keep his cool when the rockets were exploding.
Going back through another generation and another institution, the support which the Holm family provided (and the contribution made) to the Atlantic Christian Training Centre, Tatamagouche, will never be forgotten by the centre. As one who attends a monthly meeting at Tatamagouche, I know that the pine tree which stands in front of Stewart Hall will always be a lasting memorial to Viggo and Magda. It is appropriate that, at the end of his days, Flemming should rest at Abercrombie between the two who brought him into the world and were the early formative influences on his life.
I was happy that events conspired to lead me to an assignment in Cape Breton last Sunday, which meant the timing was perfect on my return journey to place me at Abercrombie at 3.00 pm. You and the family, assisted by Ivan and a number of friends, gave your father a fitting send-off. I’m certain Flemming approved of, and rejoiced in, all that took place, including the passing of Michael’s labour-of-love and its precious enclosure. My colleagues and I were proud to call him a brother and friend. May God’s loving Spirit be with you and your family always.
Sincerely, Bob Latimer, PHAA secty
PS – Thanks for sending the audio account of the service of celebration of Flemming Holm’s life. The reflections of family members, clergy and people like Hugh McKervill put quite a dent in my box of kleenex.
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Dear Heather,
I first met your Dad sometime in the late ’80s when I became a member of Halifax Presbytery and joined the Church in Society Committee. We would meet at his house in Dartmouth to discuss relevant social issues and plan for action and activities in which we as part of the United Church could play a role.
He was always so prepared for whatever the issue might be, and prepared also for action, sometimes against all odds, as with the Maersk Dubai situation.
His biblical knowledge and understanding was amazing, and it was such a delight to have him share this in our Study Group at Trinity.
I was so delighted when one Sunday, a few years ago, I saw Flemming coming into Trinity. I had lost track of him for a few years; we greeted each other as “old time” friends.
He will be greatly missed.
To listen to individual segments of Flemming Holm’s funeral service, held on October 17, 2009, in Trinity United Church, Mahone Bay, go to the In Memorium page.
To listen to Flemming Holm’s entire funeral service at once:
(Note that this version has the introductions and blank spaces edited out.)
Listen:
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Welcome, Gathering Words, Rev. Ruth Brown
Hymn VU # 232 Joyful, Joyful
Prayer
Reflections: Heather Holm (Read text).
Gift of Music: We Rise Again, Reid Campbell and Pamela Holm
Reflections and Reading: I Corinthians 13, Hugh McKervill
Hymn VU#699 Live Into Hope
“Prospice” by Robert Browning, read by George Robertson
Reflections: Pamela Holm (Read text)
Gift of Music: He Shall Feed His Flock from Handel’s Messiah: Pam Holm, alto, Bev Shaw, violin, Josephine Skinner, organ
Greetings from Maritime Conference: Rev. Ivan Gregan
Greetings from South Shore Presbytery: Rev. Neil McEwen
Messages from Away: Charles Maginley (Read text)
Luke 4: 16-21: Steve Sepulchre
Isaiah 40: Gail Tricebock
Reflections: Ruth Brown: Ode to Flemming (Read text)
Hymn VU# 808 On Eagle’s Wings, with solo by Reid Campbell
Prayers of Thanksgiving
The Prayer of Jesus: “A Paraphrase” VU page 916
Hymn VU#691 Ancient Walls
Sending Forth: Blessing and Benediction
Hymn VU#625 I feel the Winds of God Today
Postlude: “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring” by J. S. Bach, Bev Shaw, violin, Josephine Skinner, organ
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This is just a selection of messages we have received by E-mail. These messages were read by Charles Maginely at the funeral.
Listen:
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I have been thinking about Uncle Flemming all week and the fond memories I have of an Uncle that I will always hold close in my heart.
Like the time Kathy accidentally step on Bradley’s kitten and the poor little kitty died. Well, Brad was so upset that his mommy “murdered” his kitten that when Uncle Flemming found out he drove to Kathy’s and picked up Brad and the kitty and took them home and had a funeral in his back yard. Although Uncle Flemming tried to explain to little Bradley that it wasn’t murder Brad felt much better knowing that the little kitty was in a safe place now.
I remember I could call him when I was sad and needed to talk. I always felt better after our chit-chats.
The time he drove me to Mount Alison to spend the week end with Pam…we managed to solve many of the world problems during our drive there and back.
When I wanted him to officiate over my wedding. He jump through hoops to borrow a church and what did I do? I complained and whined because I wanted him to wear a gown. He went through the trouble of finding a minister that was approximately the same size as him so he could borrow one. I am pretty sure I am the only niece in the entire world that had an uncle that did this for her. He found a gown to wear and I not sure I ever told him how grateful I was or how proud I am that he is my uncle.
These are only a few ways that he had an impact on my life….I loved him very much and will miss him.
Gandhi said that his life was his message. Your fathers message is strong,
clear and extremely generous.
Please accept our most heartfelt sympathies for your loss… our thoughts are with you and your family during this difficult time.
I offer condolences on Flemming’s passing. He was with us in the mid – late 90′s – an exceptional man of God. He was a gift to this Charge and to all who were blessed to meet him. I will never forget the phone call, I received from him one evening when he wanted to discus a letter he was sending to our Session about Homosexuality and Marriage. This phone call went on for over an hour as we discussed his thoughts and feelings. He was a talented, gifted man who will not be forgotten. I was happy to see you are going to keep posting his writings.
I was privileged to work with Flemming Holm at both the Nova Scotia Human Rights Commission and the Canadian Human Rights Commission.
He was a singular gentleman of dry wit who appreciated many of life’s ironies.
I enjoyed interesting discussions with him and was always surprised at the depth of his knowledge on a wide variety of topics. I found him to be a natural teacher and valued his encouragement and support.
His love and pride in his Danish heritage was equaled by his love and pride in his family. My condolences to each family member at this time of great loss.
A dedicated advocate of social justice; he will be greatly missed.
Rest in peace, Flemming – you were one of the good guys.
We were privileged as a congregation to have Rev. Flemming Holm serve as minister with us from 1967-1973 and many here still fondly remember his presence in Antigonish. Our prayers join with yours as you come before God and celebrate his life. I personally had the opportunity to speak with him in the spring and hear some of his memories and thoughts on this area and was able to pass along condolences on his behalf to a family in the congregation. May this time of remembrance be an opportunity for you as family to celebrate the life you were blessed to know and may God grant Rev. Flemming Holm the peace and the wonder which is prepared for all who work and strive for God’s justice on earth.
I am so thankful to have seen and spent time with Flemming when I did. He has always been one of my heroes and he was a real influence in my teenage years.
[This was sent before they heard the news that Flemming had passed away.]
Our sympathy goes out to all of the family, but even more, we trust, there will be a celebration of this man as you gather together sharing your sorrow and joy. What a great man!! We wish we had seen more of him over the years, but many Nova Scotia roads make ‘dropping in’ rather difficult.
We knew Flemming in several places, and we both remember when his parents worked at Tatamagouche Centre!! He was always interested in the Centre and Kenley at least has seen him there on occasion. It seems appropriate that any memorial from us should go to the Centre. Knowing Flemming though, we may have to wait, unless as he no doubt wishes – “It won’t be long now.”.
Thanksgiving Day – and what more can we do but give thanks, Flemming, for your life and influence and courage and good humour! We found in you a steadfast friend all through the piece. Time and again you have opened realms of fresh thought and outlook and shared daring and steadiness as we ventured them.
How well I remember the coffeepot in your room at Pine Hill and how its aroma stirred both mind and heart!
We follow you with love on this journey. Thank you for being among
Your Dad was quite special and he was a blessing to all he met. I learned a lot from him; he made us all laugh and his wit, friendship, his great memory and love for poetry, wise sayings and historical events, and his jokes always enlivened any situation.
Flemming lived out his faith! I always enjoyed reading his opinions sent to the local paper. He was a champion for the weak and disenfranchised folks. I will miss him a lot. As well, I will miss his delightful Christmas letters! He did not suffer long and he is now at peace.
I am so sorry to hear about your loss which must be difficult despite Flemming being ready to go and I wanted you to know that we are thinking of you all. My Mother too has asked me to let you know they she and my Father will be thinking of you and your family from Denmark.
I always felt that I knew a little about your Father through his very descriptive letters sent to Denmark and the family history that he wrote but I am so thankful that I did meet him last year when we came to visit. I only wish we had had more time – I know that he would have loved some time to talk in Danish.
I write this with both sadness and with joy. It has been such a gift to
me to have had the time we did ! That death has come as welcome rest for
Flemming, evokes a wonderful warmth in my soul. I hope that God, St. Peter
et al are ready for some terrific stories !
My sadness is selfishness, his loss from this world, is my loss too.
I hold you, Malcolm, and family in heart, mind, and prayer !!
He has been a source of inspiration to me and I think of him often. I recall his comments on John Wesley as a example of how a fresh idea, well-delivered, can change the world.
so…now after his physical embodiment is gone to ash
I get to see who he is and what he thinks about so much
the turns of phrase and strategies employed in
search of social justice and transmission of
its basic concepts to and through a stunted media
rumbling quietly into the darkness
coming towards him
about compassion and logic and mercy
rational thought writ well and humble
charity beginning but not ending at home.
flemming, may I get to know thee well.
We are changed now
Not because he left us
But because he touched us
Flemming was truly an outstanding person and will be deeply missed by all who knew him. His undying attention to things such as the church; poverty; human suffering; developing nations; human rights; international affairs; local, provincial, and federal politics; and a host of other topics truly exemplified him as a person striving to help build a better world.
We first met through the NDP when he lived in Dartmouth. In those days NDPers were pretty rare everywhere in NS. We were persistent, committed and worked hard. You can ask him whether he knew we would eventually become the government. I don’t know that I believed it. I suspect we both supported the NDP because it was the right thing to do.
He was a couple of years ahead of me at Pine Hill, and I think it wasn’t until we were together at the first Canadian Lab in Group Development (at A.C.T.C., 1957, if my memory serves me) that I came to know him. We shared much during those couple of weeks, and continued to share in the years that followed.
My prayer is the one that comes from the Service Book:
“O Lord, support us all the day long of this troublous life, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then of Your tender mercy grant us a safe lodging and a holy rest, and peace at the last; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen”
So may it be for your Dad. May God be graciously near to all of you in the family circle which he treasured so much.
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Reid Campbell and Pamela Holm sing Rise Again at Flemming Holm’s funeral on October 17, 2009.
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Listen:
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Dear Friend, Colleague, Teacher
Bestefar Prophet, and give us to laughter
Singer of the songs of our faith, scripture chapter and verse
Keeper of the details of history
illuminating what yet may be possible for us and our world
Story teller of endless stories…..
as the spirit moves….you got to move too
as the spirit opens….you got to look through
bring the church to the people…down by the sea
for such a time as this
you joined us for the journey
made of us your spiritual home
And I give thanks
It is fitting
you made your way
before frost and cold settled in
when sun and moon were bright
and leaves aflame
like the fire in your heart
for the least and the last,
“the little ones,” Jesus had said….
Now, we envision you
in the parlour and minister’s study,
in the church office and sanctuary
Round the community table and over at Tim’s
how your presence grew among us
“Seek the kingdom that will not wait for heaven,”
You said.
Lift every voice
“Do whatever you can, write it down, mail it off
Don’t stop believing
Not Caesar’s but God’s
household economics,” you said
For today, is God’s day of jubilation
and all the oppressed are set free
and we at last see differently
ourselves and each other
”well maybe we have a ways to go yet,” you said
Nevertheless
not without grace……
For all our works are not enough
“But by grace,” you said.
It was what our friend Paul had said too!
With him on this at last we agree
“But by grace”
Day by day, Step by step
“In my lifetime I have known grace upon grace,” you said
As on eagles’ wings….
A strength and a hope
A compassion and a wisdom
a life-giving sense of humour
an astounding capacity to re-member
a lightness of being
Beyond your own
Yet not apart from us
Is This Life
in which we live and move and have being
on earth and wherever else we may go…..
We are not alone,
called to be the church
we are gift to each other
Grateful to share this good journey with
All creatures great and small
But by grace
In Holy mystery, who is wholly love
we “carry on, carry on.”
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The cross-shaped urn in the church for the funeral service
The urn was built in the shape of a cross by Flemming’s son Mike. Mike had come from Toronto for Thanksgiving and had not expected to be constructing a funerary urn on his holiday. Thanks to Bill Nauss, a friend who also happens to be a friend of Flemming’s brother John, and has a woodworking shop, he had the tools and materials to do the job. Bill and his wife Lorna were very helpful during the construction of the urn – as they always are when Dorcas and Mike visit.
Mike Holm carrying his father's urn into the cemetery. D. Robinson photo
The urn was made out of pine and mahogany, with a pressure-fitted top.
At the burial, we passed it around the circle so that everyone could carry Flemming in death a little way, feel the weight of his ashes and say a last good-bye. It was a profound moment for many. When the urn returned to Mike, I could feel the circle closed, complete.
Looking at the urn before the burial ceremony. D. Robinson photo.
The urn was crowned with sweetgrass and adorned with a beaded dreamcatcher by Flemming’s nephew Dan and his son before it was laid in the grave.
Just at the hour that he died, a friend had a dream about Flemming passing in a wave through a keyhole shaped like a cross. When she entered the church and saw the urn, she was amazed, because it had the same shape as the cross in her dream.
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(Note: The beginning is a little mumbled, but the rest is much clearer):
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Thank you all for coming. This has been an incredible week for our family and we appreciate your presence and support.
(My father fit so well into this church that you may not realize that the cross on the altar here is actually the urn containing his ashes, built by my brother Mike this week in Bill Nauss’ workshop. The Nausses also happen to be friends of my father’s brother John and his wife Jocelyne, who can’t be here, so that’s another nice connection for us.)
With all the lovely things that have been said and will be said about my father, I think I should share with you a few of his foibles so that you know he wasn’t an angel walking among us. (Although he seemed to get more angelic as he got older.)
One of his foibles was telling the same story or joke over and over again. He did it to great effect on his last morning, the day after his heart attack, to let us know that he knew that he was dying. He said, “Well, as the monkey said when he got his tail caught in the meat grinder…” … pause … “It won’t be long now!”
We heard many of his stories often, growing up and since then. Fortunately, he has left us his wonderful memoirs, written 10 years ago, which we have been dipping into in the last few days. Somehow the stories seem more interesting and precious now.
He was 3 years old, an only child, when his family moved to Nova Scotia from Denmark, after an early childhood enveloped in the cocoon of a warm extended family. He writes that he always felt a “Paradise Lost” just under the level of conscious memory, and he clung to everything Danish: language, family, genealogy, Danish history and the history of Danes in Nova Scotia, and maple danishes at Tim Horton’s. That way, he said, he could be patriotic to both countries.
It seemed to us that devotion to things Danish kept his mind in the past. But there were rich lessons, too, from the Scandinavian culture: a humanitarian orientation towards equality, community, and simple contentment that’s reflected in a Norwegian hymn he loved to quote:
Here is summer sun enough, here is fertile land enough,
If only, if only we have love enough.
His material wants and needs were simple and he was easily pleased. Growing up on farms during the Depression taught him to appreciate a basic boiled potato more than a fancy one stuffed with herbs and served au gratin.
In 1987, he joined me in Nicaragua in order to see first hand the effect the Sandinista revolution was having on the lives of people there. One day, standing around in our $1/night hotel in Managua, I was telling him how pleased I was that he was willing to hitchhike for rides in the back of trucks, to sleep wherever, and to eat the simple food that was available. He replied that it reminded him of growing up on farms during the Depression, and if that was how people lived, then he was content to share it.
Then the ground shook – it was a minor earth tremor. A few years before, the city had experienced a devastating earthquake. We moved to the middle of the courtyard, so that we wouldn’t be crushed by the heavy clay roof tiles if they were to fall. Later I asked him what had gone through his mind at that moment. He replied, “Well, why not that, too?”
Why not share the life, the fate, of the poorest of these? Who was he to expect better than anyone else?
It is hard to distinguish a person’s humility from lack of self-confidence. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin. Flemming displayed both in his life.
He was reading in two languages by the time he started school, and was put into Grade 2 right away, according to the wisdom of the day. This put him ahead of his age group, which made it harder for him to develop leadership skills and self-confidence. He was flabbergasted when his Grade 12 classmates chose him as valedictorian. He figured it was because they knew he was planning to study for the ministry and because of what he jokingly called his “useless knowledge”, which impressed them nonetheless.
He wrote:
“My chief impression of my early school years is one of a naiveté which invited the other kids to laugh at me and take advantage of me. I minded this sort of humiliation but did not tell my parents. I have always found it easy to learn, and have liked the learning process; but my interests have seldom been those of the people around me. I am rather impractical, at least as far as mechanics and business are concerned, and have little self-confidence about such matters. I am a dreamer and a reader…. Like Mother, I have approached life with a good deal of anxiety, finding it hard to deal with opposition and criticism. But with the passage of time I believe the other pupils in the school learned to respect my scholastic ability and my concern for the younger children.”
His father’s ambitions to be a minister had been thwarted by events, and when Flemming was born, his parents dedicated him to the church. They didn’t force him, and they didn’t tell him about having chosen this destiny for him until he had chosen it for himself, but they groomed him. And so he was ordained at the young age of 24.
Perhaps others will speak more of his career as a United Church minister. I will just say that it must sometimes be a very rewarding job, and other times extremely frustrating, depending on the politics in a particular congregation, especially if one has a thin skin and feels sensitive to criticism. And it can be very hard on families who can find themselves living in a fishbowl. (Be kind to your minister!) But it gave him lots of opportunity to practice unconditional love.
I can also say that he wrote interesting sermons. He brought together his considerable biblical scholarship with the issues of the day. The ministry also gave him opportunities to get people working for social action. My sister Pam and I remember hearing talks by missionaries, most notably Dr. Robert McClure, which influenced us deeply.
Dad spent the summer of ’67 studying at Coady International Institute. There we met interesting people from Third World countries, and got an introduction to international development. That experience led Flemming towards his work in human rights.
The Nova Scotia and Canadian Human Rights Commissions were staffed by idealists like him, eager to make the world a better place for all. Lasting friendships resulted. Carol and Mike remember him taking them to a clandestine viewing of a film on apartheid in South Africa. This was before the issue had hit the news, and the makers of the film were risking their lives to produce and distribute the film. He wanted them to see it, too.
One of his life challenges was to rebel against his father. Perhaps he didn’t really achieve this task until his father died, but he reinforced it every time he took a sip of wine. Anytime you’re in a restaurant and you say, “… I’ll have a glass of white wine,” please think of Flemming. I will.
He thought he would have preferred to be a teacher than a minister. He certainly loved working with kids and organized various summer camps and youth groups during his career.
His first pupil was his sister Anna, another was me, as the oldest child who got more of his attention than the others, and the last, of course, was my son, Malcolm.
His sister Anna is in Mexico and can’t be with us today, but asked me to read the e-mail she sent to Flemming which he did not get to hear before he died.
Flemming, you have been preparing for this for a long time now. You have made it clear that you want a swift and painless passing, not a prolonged period of suffering for yourself and your loved ones.
I want you to know you have always been an important part of my life, the good and the bad. You gave me unconditional love, no matter what the circumstances, for that I thank you.
I remember that I could read before I entered kindergarten. I have always attributed this to your patience and teaching skills, not to my own brilliance. Although you were away most of my growing up years, I was always excited when you came home to visit.
We have shared a lot, you and I. You have always been there to support me and this will continue, no matter what happens. I know this, because of Father. You can now share that burden with him.
At this time we are not certain what the outcome will be. A big part of me wants you to get better and go on for another 10 years or so. This may not happen and perhaps that will be what Heather calls your “miracle”. God may decide to grant your wish for a comfortable demise, surrounded by your loved ones.
You deserve the very best, big brother. I love you.
Anna
Indeed, he loved unconditionally; his heart was pure and simple in that way. But in expressing that love he was sometimes awkward, and he had a lot to learn – and did learn a lot, I think – in the romance department. It was one of his life challenges to learn to swim in the sea of romantic passion. He dove right in once without really knowing how to swim, but he spawned his offspring and was eventually washed up on shore half drowned, and after that he watched from the shore a lot, dipped his toe in from time to time, took a few strokes, even floated happily for a time but never quite managed to swim like a fish in the sea of romantic love. But he never gave up on it.
He loved us, his children and grandson, unconditionally. He was proud of our characters as much as he was of our achievements. In his quiet way he was our biggest cheerleader. He was glad to be able to help out each of us out financially – in small ways – when we were struggling. He always loved to just have us around, doing our own thing. He so needed people to connect with on a day-to-day, mundane level.
He’d had a bout of polio when he was 16, and recovered, but the long-term consequences showed up in the last few years. Those of you who have seen him regularly have noticed the gradual decline in his vigour since that wonderful 80th birthday party that we had here, three years ago. Probably, the muscles and nerves that had been compromised by the polio finally were giving out, and, to quote Rudyard Kipling’s “If”: we saw him
… force [his] heart and nerve and sinew
To serve [his] turn long after they were gone,
And so he held on when there was nothing in him
Except the Will which said to them: ‘Hold on!’
He was looking forward to living in a nursing home and was hoping he’d be able to make the move while he could still be useful. In fact, as some people pointed out, he would probably have thrived there, with lots of people to talk to and share stories with.
It was a privilege to be so close to such a person facing the end of his life. Even a couple of years ago it felt to me, and some others, that he was getting a little transparent. The body was fading and the essence was coming through more clearly.
As his strength and puff gradually declined, he was finding it harder to get around.
But he continued to follow local and world events closely, and regretted not being able to write as many letters to newspapers and politicians as he would like. His sense of social justice was as strong as ever, and his pen grew bolder.
In the last few months a number of people have contacted him concerning things he’d been involved with over the last 60 years, and several friends and relatives came to visit. Consequently, he found himself again piecing together the patchwork quilt of his life, in his mind, seeing the relationships between the pieces, how one was connected to another, observing the threads that ran through it.
A few months ago he told me that he didn’t know what the next adventure was going to be like, what was going to happen when he died, but he was surprised to find himself feeling excited about it.
His only fear was of being bedridden and helpless, in chronic pain, and not useful. He was very clear with his doctors and everyone else that he would like to go quickly, and not linger. Though his vigour was declining, his ailments were unlikely to finish him off, just make life increasingly painful. Two weeks ago he came here to church and for the first time the fatigue and pain made him regret having made the effort.
And then out of the blue came a massive heart attack. When I told him what the doctor was telling me, that he wasn’t likely to survive it, he simply said, “That’s all right.” And it was all right with him. Some people were hoping for a miracle, but the heart attack was his miracle.
(Although after cleaning out his garbage can the other day and seeing all the empty potato chip bags, I’m thinking about how he may have managed to manifest this miracle.)
His timing was exquisite, with my brother, who would be with him when he died, already on the road to get here for Thanksgiving; with the weather turning cold – which he dreaded – and the leaves falling from the trees; with friends able to visit at short notice on a holiday weekend; with the balance of life’s daily rewards and daily pain tipping irrevocably toward the painful side.
We, his children, may have taken him for granted sometimes, but he never took us for granted, and counted us among his best friends. On his last morning when Dorcas and I walked into his room, he looked at us both and smiled and said, “I’m so lucky.”
His brother’s wife, my aunt Jocelyne, who is a Buddhist, this week shared with me a teaching from one of her teachers. Nothing comes from nothing, and nothing goes to nothing. We do not come from nothing, and we do not go to nothing. My father felt similarly, actually. “Surely,” he wrote, “the growth I have experienced here will not be wasted, so presumably there is some way in which it can continue. But so far I have felt little need to speculate about what lies on the other side. One world at a time. I leave the other to God.” And more recently he wrote us, his children: “I have learned in recent years to not try to define God. He/she is beyond definition. In my younger years I took life after death for granted, but already in the 1970s I had some difficulty with funerals as I felt people expected me to say something heartwarming about meeting one’s loved ones after death. Now I am just grateful to have known you all and to have had a share in your lives. And I feel that joining with others, mainly in the church but also out of it, to make the world a better place is more than enough for our small efforts. One world at a time. God is Unconditional Love.”
Funeral with audio & texts | Funerary Urn | Obituary | Eulogy | Ode | Burial | View all posts pertaining to his death and funeral
