My Grandfather

My grandfather, my jiddo - an agent of the Light if ever there was one. Pious and courageous in his faith, he lived a full life, and faced his death with grace. In his mighty spirit he held all that is good and pure in our culture, and all that is worthy in men everywhere. He spoke only truth, and gave of himself without thought or desire soiled by self. In joy, he upheld the respect of all those he knew, and shined at them with fellowship and amity. He held himself with dignity, and yet was not too proud, and dealt with all fairly and in good faith and spirit. Gentle as ever a man was, and humble, and virtuous in all his conduct and thought, he wrought only the good, the ever noble, in thought and deed. In his patience and self-discipline, he inspired us to be more, to move beyond desire, beyond self. A gentleman through and through, refined and cordial, he was more princely than any prince, despite - no - because of, his suffering, his toil, and his humble means. In his heart was love of life, family, friends, community and country, and his duty to them was no duty, but instinct, as natural and as certain as the passing of Time. Like a crystal his love caught and concentrated his every virtue and beamed it out at all those around him, so that we were made better for it, for him.

Time has taken him from us, ripped from him the garment of his body, and set him elsewhere. And though his passing may be the blessing of others, with his spirit in new raiment, pristine white, or enjoined and whole with the Universe once more, our loss is hard to bear, in a world where so few remain with his wisdom, his honor, his soul, brave and true in its gentleness, unshakeable in endurance and integrity, mighty in love and character. It is my only hope that I may aspire to find him still in my life, and to found him in others', to preserve and elevate his essence in all that I do. All that is left to me is to fight for that cause, and pray that I achieve but a fraction of the purity and humanity that characterized my grandfather, in my worshipful eyes. God bless and protect his soul, and keep those he loved from harm, and give to us the strength to ensure that his self and what it stood for, his memory on this earth, never wanes.

I pray, Grandfather, that Gibran, that great mentor to whose wisdom I owe my being, and whose acquaintance I owe to you, spoke true:

What is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

But regardless of whither your grace has landed, jiddo, (and I know it is a good place and bettered by you), I swear, in your name and in God's, in my life I shall not cease; I will rage, rage against the dying of the light!