I thought I’d share WH Auden’s famous words of grief this morning.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
~by WH Auden
Relevant to funeral blues, Bryan’s colleagues and friends are graciously hosting a celebration of life service for him in Anchorage, where he spent most of his life. It’ll be next weekend, Sunday, April 5, from 2-4pm, at the Petroleum club. The boys and I, as well as his parents and sister’s family, will be there. I’m looking forward to hearing folks’ memories of Bryan.