Jack

There were still thousands of people standing patiently in a line that wrapped right around City Hall this evening in order to pay their respects to Jack Layton. It was about 2 1/2 hours long.

Jack (he was always Jack, not Layton or Mr Layton - nothing so formal) was a city councillor and MP in Toronto who later became the leader of the New Democratic Party and then in last May's election, the leader of the opposition. He was a man of the people and even those people who did not - and perhaps never would - vote for him, have been deeply affected by his death. It was not completely unexpected, but shocking all the same. We all had hope...

I shook his hand once. Many years ago, when I lived almost but not quite in his riding on the Danforth, I was standing in line behind him in a bakery. Some other people came over to talk to him and somehow I was drawn into the conversation. I have no memory of what the talk was, but I do remember his laughter and those eyes that sparkled in their intensity when he looked at you. When he was ready to leave he shook hands with each of us and waved to the others sitting at tables nearby. He was not just going through the motions, he really cared about and knew so many people.

What other politician would spend his last days writing a letter to his fellow citizens [Canadians]?

It is long, so I won't repost it all but here are a few snippets from his letter to Canada dated two days before his death

All my life I have worked to make things better. Hope and optimism have defined my political career, and I continue to be hopeful and optimistic about Canada.
...
To other Canadians who are on journeys to defeat cancer and to live their lives, I say this: please don’t be discouraged that my own journey hasn’t gone as well as I had hoped. You must not lose your own hope.
...
And finally, to all Canadians: Canada is a great country, one of the hopes of the world. We can be a better one – a country of greater equality, justice, and opportunity. We can build a prosperous economy and a society that shares its benefits more fairly. We can look after our seniors. We can offer better futures for our children. We can do our part to save the world’s environment. We can restore our good name in the world. We can do all of these things because we finally have a party system at the national level where there are real choices; where your vote matters; where working for change can actually bring about change.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.

All my very best,

Jack Layton

Jazz has conveniently posted it in its entirety on her blog which you can read here.

'aspire to inspire'     'through these doors lies the body of a great man'

For several days, people have been leaving messages on the cement at City Hall, 

some of it has been washed off with the rain, but more is added...Olivia (his wife) made an appearance

'the best PM we never had'
You will be sorely missed, Jack.

missing you

I will miss you, she said.

I stifled a laugh. It seemed odd, to think of being missed. Not quite the same as thinking of events that you will miss being a part of, like seeing your grandchildren grow up, or being around for your daughter's wedding.

She can not cry, I was told. If she gets emotional, she cannot breathe. So, I did not want to say "I will miss you, too". Did not want to admit that this would be our last visit. Did not want to dwell on her imminent passing.

I have known Mrs Epp for almost all the 14 years I have lived here. She is my oldest patient and would be 96 at her next birthday. But she will not see her next birthday. For most of the past year we have had a standing appointment, every 3 weeks (or more frequently as needed) and I have seen her becoming frailer and smaller with each visit. Yet, until December, she always looked forward to the massage - such as I could give her.

When I got the response from her daughter saying it would be good to visit but that she may pass away that night, or tomorrow... or next week... I knew that, snowstorm or not, I would drive the 30 minutes into the city to see her.

Our appointments over the years have always included an extra hour or so of health talk and pleasantries and an examination of her latest knitting/crocheting/tatting project. She had a computer long before I did and was excited to show me what she had learned to do on it. Whenever she had a new health issue, she spent hours researching it on the internet. She was almost giddy at how easy it was to keep in touch with her far flung family. I followed her as she resolutely moved herself into an 'independent living' centre long before it was really necessary. I used her as an inspiration for my parents when they refused to even consider moving into a seniors home even when it was so plainly necessary. Three times she moved, each time a little bit closer to her daughter and farther away from her old friends. She was fortunate to have the finances to live in beautiful surroundings and to have round the clock care when she needed it. Still, she has lingered long enough.

I don't have the strength to give you a hug. So, I reached towards her and pressed my cheek against hers. A little later, after waking up more, some morphine, a new comfortable position, she brightened and found the strength for a hug. An embrace that I wished would end before my tears came. I must not cry. She must not cry.

Mrs Epp, I will miss you. Dearly.

Comments are not necessary. I needed to write this out for myself.

And I needed to share it with my far flung friends.

melancholy

the bitterest tears shed over graves

are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.

harriet beecher stowe

I was at another funeral on Monday. He was an older man and in poor health, but no one anticipated the sudden heart attack that took his life. He was declining, not dying.

Such events make one melancholy. Thoughtful. Introspective.

He was at once on the periphery yet so integral to my life since I was born. His extended family a familiar extension of my small family. As my brother and I grew older and moved away from the home where Fred lived across the street and eventually away from the city we grew up in, we lost touch except through anecdotes and occasional Christmas visits. But the connection is forever there.

We see each other and the time melts away in uneven patterns. We are all older. The next generation is older and the family resemblances are happily and sometimes shockingly noted. The memories return, unbidden, erupting.

"Oh it is so nice to see you"

"It has been so long, hasn't it"

"I hope to see you again soon"

And you can feel the air ever so slightly move. It changes, it reverses as the words are said. As the words are left unsaid.

Because you know, you both know, that it will likely be at the next funeral that you see one another again.

~~~~~

geewits had a link on a post about a week ago for a musical interlude by her FIL. I thought of Fred when I heard her Bill's rendition of A Froggie Went A Courtin and listened to the recording several times. Fred was a musician at heart. He loved nothing better than playing his banjo or guitar. He tried to teach me that song when I got my first guitar, but I was never very good. Thanks, geewits, I'll keep listening to Bill singing and think of Fred's big smile as he plays his banjo. A perfect composite.