[ Home | Contents | Post | Reply | Next | Previous | Up ]
From: siobhan (aka "the gus")
Date: 18 Dec 2000
Time: 18:49:47
Remote Name: 204.128.192.52
I post this here because Wendy was like that:
<i>Two paths diverged in a yellow wood And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveller; long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then tood the other as just as fair And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black Oh- I kept the first for another day Yet, knowing how way leads on to way I doubted that I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence Two paths diverged in a wood- and I, I took the road less travelled by And that has made all the difference.
--Robert Frost </i>
Gene, the other night, at the bar, you hugged me tight and you said, "you're a good kid, Gus." And I said, "I try to be, for my parents' sake." But I forgot to say what I really wanted to say, which was: "You're a good Dad, Gene."
And "You're a good Mom, Beth."
And "You're a good sister, Karen."
And "You are good friends, all of you."
I decided to <a href="http://skintrade.org/drama/2000_11_01_archive.html#1271861">write</a> about my experiences at the funeral. When I posted it, I didn't really think much of it until the next day, when I tried to get my email. You wouldn't believe the avalanche of mail unleashed on my server. It was like a hundred people I'd never met, who read my page every day, all of a sudden rushed in with love, warmth, and good thoughts. One of them even posted his good wishes here. He even came to the memorial. Some man I've never met who was touched by Wendy, through me. It's amazing, the holes that the absence of a person leaves, yet the beginnings of new friendships that it can foster, to help shore up the hole, make it less obvious, help it heal. Amazing.
Now, when faced with tough or not-so-tough decisions, I will ask myself, "what would Wendy want me to do?" I think I'm going to try living that way for a while and see where it takes me. I'll report back to you in six months. It's entirely possible that by that token, by then I'll be stranded in Bangladesh, having decided to join a Walk For Peace through India that disbanded at the border, with nothing but a backpack of dirty socks, an American passport, and a half-used tub of purple hair dye. Or I could simply be a few steps closer to a road less travelled, but ultimately closer to where I want to be in life.
Goodnight, Wendy. Go with God.