ABSTRACT
George dies early on Monday morning, thirty-six hours after entering hospice. He is to be cremated. His memorial service takes place on Friday at a Unitarian church. The minister reads the piece I wrote and read to George at his birthday celebration. Family and friends, some present, others contributing via e-mail, give tribute to George’s life. They speak about his generosity, his love, his humor, his intelligence, his engagement in life. Luke’s song, “Son and Rain,” about himself, his father, and his grandfather fills the room. I’ve read the tributes previously. I’ve heard Luke’s song many times. But my tears are unstoppable. And then there is this poem, a poem written by Jane Dobija, a writer friend we knew from Ann Arbor. She read a poem at our wedding. Now her words, which echo that poem from long ago, ring out through the chapel.
