| Remarks by Christy Ann Brodersen | |
|
I had this grandiose idea that I was going to come here today, and I was going to convey to everyone the essence of Dad's personality. Well, after trying to work on how I was going to put that to words for a few days, I realized that was absurd, that there's no way that that huge personality could be put to a few words. It was like trying to catch a mountain with a butterfly net. So, I'm not going to try to do that. I'm going to build a little bit on Linnea's and John's tribute and memories, and speak to and try to convey that facet of life I think all of us can recognize and admire and aspire to.
Dad had such a zest for life. He loved life, and he was such a part of it, he was always doing and acting and achieving, pursuing. You know, I never remember my Father watching television. He may have, on occassion, watched a documentary, but I never saw him doing it. Dad could not sit there and watch life passing in front of him, he had to be a part of it. He had to be a part of the action, in there doing, and most of the time he was the genesis of it. He was the one that got things going. He was that way right up until the last, when just about six weeks ago he planned Mom's birthday. And although his strength was failing he insisted on making the homemade ice cream. And although I wasn't here, I hear that, although he shouldn't have probably been, he was still driving--scary as that may be. |
I came to know my Father, not only as my Father, but as this fascinating, intriquing, unique personality through his letters, as so many of us did. He was a beautiful writer. He had that genius of a great writer, that magic to convey this personality, his spirit through his writing. And I treasured his letters. It was such a joy when I would come home from work and there was one of his letters in the mailbox
He loved literature, as he loved so many other things, and we shared that interest, and he would send me books that he loved, and I would send him books. And he supported my interest in literature. And I don't know how many of you know this--he also loved poetry. And he would send me excerpts of poems that he found especially beautiful and that had meaning for him. And this is an excerpt that was especially beautiful to him and meaningful. It's done by Wordsworth from the poem "Ode".
hath had its setting, and cometh from afar not in entire nakedness, not in complete forgetfulness But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God in heaven, our home |
Dad's life star has returned to that heavenly home, as it should be. But I have a message here that I think that he would like me to convey to you and give to you, and it's in that embodiment of literature and poetry that he loved, and it personifies Dad in so many ways. It's Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "A Psalm of Life".
life is but an empty dream For the soul is dead, that slumbers and things are not what they seem Life is real, life is earnest and the grave is not its goal Dust thou art, to dust returneth was not spoken of the soul Not enjoyment, and not sorrow is our destined end or way But to act, that each tomorrow find us farther than today Art is long, and time is fleeting and our hearts though stout and brave still like muffled drums are beating fewer marches to the grave |
in the bywalk of life be not like dung-driven cattle be a hero in the strife Trust no future, however pleasant Let the dead pass various dead Act, act in the living present Heart within, and God o'erhead Lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime and departing, leave behind us footprints on the sands of time. Footprints that perhaps another sailing o'er life's salmain a forelorn and shipwrecked brother seeing, shall take heart again Let us then, be up and doing with a heart for any fate, still achieving, still pursuing learn to labor, and to wait |