A William Stafford life lesson

I never have a William Stafford poem far from my bedside. On my bedside stand, I, currently, have a book written by his son Kim Stafford entitled Early Morning - Remembering my Father. In the first 30 or so pages of his remembrances, Kim addresses the emotions immediately following his father's death. He was worried about his daughter Rosie's emotions following the passing of her grandfather with whom she was very close. Rosie was eleven years old and as her father described,

...she cried when I first told her about her grandfather's death. But then she cheered up. In some ways she was more like him in her grief than anyone: you did what the world needed and licked your wounds alone.

A few weeks following his dad's death he took Rosie camping on the beach ~ they lived in Oregon. His description of this trip touched me so much that I cannot paraphrase what he wrote. I must quote:

...We climbed the highest dune, tumbled down its open flank, climbed and tumbled again and again in the dark, laughing in spite of sand down our shirts, and all that had happened. Then we rested at the crest, where moonlight made the dune grass shine.

"Rosie," I said, "you haven't cried, except that one time. You seem pretty happy."

"Dad," she said, "I have my feelings. I just don't show them the way others do." We looked out across the horizons of the dunes, and then the waves.

"I don't have to hold on to Bill," she said, "and I don't have to let him go. He's part of me." A breeze rustled the dune grass. Distant, the breakers smacked down like a drum.

"There was something in his face," she said, "no camera ever got --it was his calm. I have his calm." She leaned toward me, "And nobody really dies. There are just five people: Sad, Shy, Curious, Angry, and Happy. Everybody comes out of those five, and then goes back. I'm not even a girl really--I'm just kind of a mind-ship..."

Suddenly, I missed my father, wanting him to hear that. She was teaching what he taught--to listen everywhere.

She was an eleven year old old-soul. I can only hope that my children and grandchildren will remember me in the same way. You cannot lose that that is a part of you.

Gordon et. al.

p.s. Thank you Champion for reminding me of this lesson.