Table of contents for Letters to David
- Dear David: Christmas Day
- Dear David: Your Memorial
- Dear David: Mister Hugh
- Dear David: Thanks for Helma
- Dear David: The Magnolia Tree
- Dear David: Month One
- Dear David: The Basement
- Dear David: When?
- Dear David: Month Two
- Dear David: Mister Hugh in the City
- Dear David: Month Three
- Dear David: Month Four
- Dear David: Month Five
- Dear David: Month Six
- Dear David: Month Seven
- Dear David: A Poem
- Dear David: Month Eight
- Dear David: Month Nine
- Dear David: Month 10
- Dear David: Month 11
- Dear David: Month 12
Dear David,
The year is winding to a close and I’m finally getting a quiet moment after an extremely busy and heartwrenching week. The House of Fielding is tranquil — Hugh’s curled up at my feet, and the others are asleep. Tosca and Allan are leaving today, so Hugh and I can send out 2005 quietly.
Your memorial on Wednesday was so very moving, but I couldn’t imagine it any other way. I think about it often, because there was so much going on. I’ll be thinking — and writing — about it for some time to come.
When I stood up in front to speak and looked around the room, I could see in every person’s face how much you meant to them. If you could bottle up the good thoughts that have come your way over the span of years and release them in one room, that’s what it felt like. Lots and lots and lots of love for you.
You, being the consummate Humble Guy, would probably be shaking your head at all the heartfelt praise. There was something hard-wired into your brain that wouldn’t let it swell, no matter what people said. Some sort of Ego Anti-Inflammatory Reflex. You didn’t even like having your picture taken, because you didn’t think you were photogenic. I think I proved you wrong, there, bashful man.
Everyone who spoke about you did so with great admiration and respect, but I knew there were others there, and others who could not attend, who felt the same way. It brought to mind the line in the Garrison Keillor poem, “Autumn”, which Chris read:
Believe that all that is essential is unseen…
I believe it. And you believed it, too. That’s how you lived your life — not through big events that showcased your many talents, but by everyday, unprompted kindness, and knowing what was important without mention.
Even before I met you, I had a sense of what kind of person you were. In your online profile, all you wrote in the “About Me” section was this little quote:
The best portion of a good man’s life,
His little, nameless, unremembered acts,
Of kindness and of love.- Wordsworth
That was you to a T. In the serious forums we shared, I saw it, and even in the silly forums, it was there. So I put it on the front of the memorial program, underneath your photo — my favourite picture of you. I told everyone that I took that photo shortly after the diagnosis, while you still had your thick tuft of hair. What I was too choked up to say, but I feel was implied: “See? You can’t keep a good man down.”
I also showed them the little card you made for me to meet me at JFK Airport for the very first time, October 1, 2004, with the limerick you wrote for me and a winking emoticon on the front. I told them how we had this winking thing between us from the beginning. We winked in crowds, in the plane, in the car — it spoke volumes. Whenever you felt low, I winked at you and made you smile. When we were stuck in the ER, waiting for a bed to be released, we winked at each other — it was our own form of communication. I told everyone how we winked at each other in the hospice when you could no longer speak and you were too weak to squeeze my hand. That was how I knew you could hear me.
Your friends made me laugh and cry and reminisce and reflect. Not so much on what I lost, but what I gained. I feel I’m a profoundly different person from knowing you, and clearly the entire room felt the same way. They expressed it in myriad ways, very eloquently. It takes courage to stand up in front of a room and say what’s in your heart, but many did. I addressed your co-workers, too, I even called them “chicken”, which got them up there… I tried to tell them what you told me on so many occasions: you worked with good people, and they became part of your family.
You would’ve been bursting with pride to see your cadets, dressed in their blues, so mature and articulate. They stood up and spoke about you with as much affection as you spoke to me about them. I was happy to meet so many of them, and put faces to their names. I know, in your eyes, the cadet program is the heart and soul of Civil Air Patrol. You put everything into being a mission pilot and a senior member, but you absolutely loved teaching aerospace to the youngsters and sharing your passion for flight. I told them that they were the kids you and I never had. You inspired more young people than you could ever know, and they are the most vibrant part of your legacy.
I wanted to thank them all for sharing you with me.
I didn’t have the privilege of knowing you for as long as the others in the room, but I told them that even after all the hardships we’d been through, and the hindsight of how limited our time was together, I’d do it all over again. People like you come along once in a lifetime. I’ll let Garrison Keillor say the rest:
Believe in the foolish vision that comes true,
Believe that all that is essential is unseen,
And for this lifetime I believe in you.All of the lovers and the love they made:
Nothing that was between them was a mistake.
All that we did for love’s sake,
Is not wasted and will never fade.
Love from all of us,
Gail
Possibly related posts:
- Dear David: Christmas Day Dear David, I’m writing because I strongly felt both your presence and absence today. I talked myself into accepting an...
- Memorial Preparations My cousin Tosca arrived late in the night from Vancouver, and the three of us stayed up ’til all hours...
- David’s in the Hospital This is Cheryl – Gail just called and asked me to post here. Gail has been up all night monitoring...
- David, still smiling David had scans all day today of his entire body and a bout of chemotherapy, so I haven't seen him...
- Remembering Uncle David Anyone who knew David knew that he loved kids. I have four nieces and a nephew who adored him, too,...
- David is Back at Mercy Hospital His temperature shot up this morning after we got home from the first radiation treatment, so I took him to...
- David thinks he looks like Uncle Fester (thanks to chemotherapy) David's hair is growing out very thinly on his head, and in patches on his chin. I'd shave his head,...
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Your letter is so touching and speaks volumes. The world would be a better place with more people like David in it.
Hi Gail,
Your words illustrate the threads that bound you and David together and those threads will be there forever. On this day that will change into another year, my wish for you is that with each day your pain evolves into beacons of strength surrounded by the love you had for one another.
Very touching – absolutely perfect tribute. You are making David proud! I am sure he is winking at you and Hugh right now…
Sending you the best of vibes from Vancouver for 2006.
Stay strong
Gail, thanks for letting us be a part of the memorial service in absentia… I didn’t know that winking was a loving tradition with you, and it’s lovely to think about…
Gail, Wow, nicely worded tribute to our dear David.Am sure it touched everybody’s heart.I was reading it to Tosca’s mom and we were both crying .Bravo!
Simply beautiful.
Thanks for the memorial update. Have been thinking of you and hoping you are doing well.
That was a beautiful letter. Simply. Beautiful.
Gail, I,m working on Dave’s computer and there are reminders all around me-good reminders,not sad reminders. I noticed on his daily calendar that on Dec 18th was the Wright Bros. first flight. I’m sure they’re taking notes because Dave’s plane wasn’t that much newer.
A beautiful summary of a moving memorial service – from your words I can feel all the love that was there for David.
beautiful letter – thinking of you
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with us Gail. For those of us who are far away and think about you every single day, it’s comforting to know you are doing ok and working through this the way you are. I have never doubted your strength, but I have never envied you more for it than I do right now.
*Hug*
Echoing the sentiments of someone else, thank you for letting us be a part of your celebration of David’s life. Hugs to you and Hugh.
[...] Dickens’ words seem appropriate to me in describing this year for us. As Cheryl mentioned below, it has been a year where she and we shifted from recovery into new growth. We walked the kids up a real mountain this summer and did some real camping in the woods. Michael and I went to the Philippines and learned more about my family’s history. Gail was getting to know David, as were we, and he was bringing a whole new dimension to her life. And then came the events of this autumn, winter, and the holidays .. Well, I think that Gail’s letter to David about his memorial service describe best what and who we collectively lost. [...]
[...] I’m bringing a videocamera to make a film of the day, but I would love to have other people help me put it together. I only have a recording of the first hour of David’s memorial at the Tripp House last December, and I’d like to hear and record some more “David stories”. The memorial was very moving, and I’m sure I’ll feel a rush of emotions at Rhinebeck, but I’m looking forward to Tuesday. It was David’s place, and it’s a special day. I hope to capture his sense of adventure (a biplane ride!), for camaraderie, and the simple joys of a grass strip and a whiff of engine oil. [...]