Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Remembrance

Today is a significant day in our family. Three years ago on Nov. 21 we said good bye to a husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather at about this time on a wintry morning in Spokane's Sacred Heart Hospital. That man, Harold Tibbs, now rests eternally a couple of miles down the road at Pack River Cemetery.

We'll go visit his grave on Thanksgiving Day, when family members who're here for the holiday are not working or traveling. We'll let him know we have not forgotten.

This day was on my mind as I picked up the paper, opened to Page 2 and saw three obituaries. I knew them all. I taught one, taught with one and collected one's memoirs for her family.

Tim Perry was the nicest young man. I had him as a sophomore in my English class. His mother, Grandma Perry, babysat my kids, and I knew many of his siblings, all wonderful people. It was shocking this morning to read of his life ending so soon at 43. It looks as if he led a full life---degree in architecture, family, and church. I know from my own experience with this true gentleman that he touched many along his route in positive ways.

I wrote about Alfons Alt yesterday. His story in today's paper showed a life filled to the brim-- great athlete, all-around teacher, beloved coach, husband, father, grandfather, brother, outdoorsman, even a state champion boxer. I never knew that Al had gone on to play professional football in Canada. Instead, I knew what I saw as his colleague, and the spirit he exuded was phenomenal and always fun.

A few years ago, I wrote nearly 70 pages typed and single-spaced about Yvonne Keltner. She was living at the Bridge for Assisted Living at the time. Sometimes, over a period of months while interviewing, I visited her. Sometimes I simply typed as she talked over the phone. She had not told her family very many stories of her early life. That was why her daughter Brigitte asked me to interview her.

I learned of her life in Egypt where her father was an engineer and her life in Germany during WWII before she came to the United States. During one of my visits to her apartment, Yvonne played some classical pieces on the piano for me, just like she had done so often for the residents at the Bridge. Her stories were fascinating, and on this morning when her obituary appears in the paper, I'm glad to have recorded them for her family, which included some grandsons who were Bill's Boy Scouts.

The memories. The people leave us, but, thank God, never the memories of how they walked this earth and so profoundly affected our lives.

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