Today marks two years since my dad died by suicide.
This year all four kids were out visiting my mom at Christmas so she planned a small graveside service for my dad. We laid him to rest in Ross Bay Cemetery which had been a dream of his. My mom managed to get her hands on a plot and then had a beautiful stone fountain that used to sit in their yard engraved.
Luckily, we had Kane with us, Mav was asleep, to keep things light with questions like “Can Grandad still move his hands?”
Mom had put together a few readings and the following poem really spoke to me.
Not how did he die, but how did he live?
Not what did he gain, but what did he give?
These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.
Not, what was his church, nor what was his creed?
But had he befriended those really in need?
Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?
Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how we were sorry when he passed away.
Rest in peace, Dad.