Monday, September 8, 2008

A Memorial

Shew, it has been a busy week and not much time for blogging. A week ago Saturday my sister and I hauled our kids to Whidbey Island and to our Grandparents old house there. Some of my sister and my fondest memories took place in this house and the beach it resides on.

But before we got there we had to ride the ferry. Just like when we were kids, now our kids make the crossing.

On the beach in front of the house we find a nice log to hang out on for a while. My sister and I tell our kids of how we played on this beach when we were young. How we used to hop from log to log all the way down the beach because the sand was "hot lava".

Initially Zion wasn't too sure of the sand. Maybe we spoke a little too much of hot lava, it's not really hot lava Baby Girl, it's OK to get down and play.
Gabe writes in the sand. My Grandfather's boat used to sit out there with the others. He used to take us fishing and to check on the crabpots. Though many memories of my childhood have turned to mist and dissipated, these never will.
Jamie and I in front of the house. I have a dream of owning this house some day.
Jamae and Zion cuddling for a while.
Gideon gets to curl his toes in the sand for the first time.

I'm a bit surprised that Gabe wasn't afraid of the seaweed.

Zion contemplates the great expanse of water. You can see that she still clutches her elephant.
Gideon enjoys the view too.
I remembered that my tripod still takes up residence in the back of my car so we get a picture of all of us. From left to right, Jamae is holding Gideon, Jamie stands with Gabe, Jessa holds Zion, and then me rushing in from setting the time on the camera - oh yeah, and what must be one of the neighbor's dogs.

The kids sitting on the bulkhead. I remember fishing from here during high tide.

Zion was playing on the beach when the dog came up and just lay right on her lap. I'm still thinking about getting a new family dog (I should say another family dog) maybe around the time of Zion's birthday. Yes, I'm crazy. Please help me to remember that it's probably the last thing I need right now.
The date of our memorial.
We wrote all our names in the sand including Grandma's.
After releasing her ashes into the water we take a moment to say our final goodbyes.

It seems appropriate to repost the poem used at her memorial that took place in Arizona.
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. She is just as beautiful and strong as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to reach her destined port.
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 other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!” by Henry Van Dyke

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