Heraclitus
April 22, 2004
Heraclitus
Translation of Callimachus' 2d Epigram
They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead,
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed.
I wept as I remember'd how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of gray ashes, long, long ago at rest,
Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake;
For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.
William Cory
My father-in-law has died. I want to tell you all I know about him, but I am too tired inside just now. I love him. He used to call and ask for my husband when he and I both knew that Will was not home. I would tease him that he just liked talking to me until it slowly settled in that he actually was calling to talk to me.
When my girls were babies, I would step out onto the deck of our condo where I could keep an eye on them without having to worry that they might coo loud enough for their grandfather to abruptly end the conversation saying that I needed to take care of my baby. It wouldn't have taken much of a coo to provoke this response from him. That was just the way he was. I remember leaning on the deck railing watching the sky slowly turn pink as the sun slipped below the buildings in town and talking to him about so many things. Listening to him about even more things.
When we moved to our present home, the girls turned two and five that summer. It wasn't as easy to leave them to their own devices when Grandpa Sparky would call. I became adept at putting videos in the VCR and looking sternly at the girls as I stepped back to their playroom to listen to whatever my father-in-law had on his mind.
As the girls got older, a stern look was enough to allow me to step away to the room that had been transformed from their playroom into their bedroom. I would lean against the ladder of their bunk beds and look out the window watching the sky turn ruddy as the sun slipped behind the trees in our neighborhood. Standing back there, listening to him and occasionally teasing him to get him to let go of something that was upsetting him was comforting. Sometimes he would be angry about something and I would have to divert his attention or, if all else failed, I would tell him how much I loved him. This never seemed to fail to quiet him. He would often brusquely tell me that he loved me, too. And I did love him in all his ways.
I would often be left standing in the dark looking up at the stars through the tree limbs from the bedroom window. I would always tell him that I loved him when we would say our goodbyes and he would always tell me that he loved me. Sometimes, I wasn't sure if he really did or if he just felt obligated to say the words. A part of me knew, though, that he never felt obligated to say those particular words.
The last time I spoke to my father-in-law was about a week before he died. I told him that I loved him and he told me that he loved me. That is enough. That is everything.
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Comments:
I'm sorry for your families loss. I hope that you can find peace in the wonderful memories that you have of him.
Posted by: Robin at April 28, 2004 6:07 AM
I am sorry to hear abour you father in. We have not just lost a great man but also a point of view.
Posted by: Vast Imagination at April 30, 2004 10:11 PM
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