My Friend Henry Writes About His Son's Passing, September 13, 2008 (UPDATED)
Posted May 12 2009 6:15pm
Henry writes: Dear Friends & Family:
The hospice nurse was here this morning to examine Cameron. He is showing clear signs that he is at the end of his earthly life, and heading off on his next adventure.
He is in no distress or pain, and looks so beautiful. The nurse described him as regal. Take comfort that this process will be gentle and pain-free. We have days or hours left, and are now in vigil mode.
I am sad, of course, and yet strangely relieved. I do not intend to despair or fall into a dark depression. How can I? My son's life was not a tragedy. It is a triumph! This is a passing that he is worthy of. If it were me instead of him (and I wish it were), this is how I would want to go. With such grace. Such grace.
As the full moon approaches (Monday), imagine Cameron rocketing through space on the back of a comet, his laughter ringing through the universe. Free. Free of cancer. Goal met!
Please light a candle in Cameron's honor, and read the following passage to your children and grandchildren. A friend sent it last week, and it brought me much comfort. It warrants repeating here.
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says: 'There, she is gone!''
Gone where?' Gone from my sight. That is all.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: 'There, she is gone!' there are other eyes watching her coming, and the other voices ready to take up the glad shout 'Here she comes!' And that is dying.