Two weeks ago today my dad died. Now both of my parents are gone.
Dad lived in a nursing home in Charlottetown for the past two and a half years. He had advanced kidney failure, so it was just a matter of a slow decline over the last year. I saw him in July 2021 when my brother Errol and I went to PEI for a week, and at that time he was still up in his chair every day, a little confused at times but still eager to see people. In March of this year he got Covid when an outbreak occurred at the nursing home. He wasn't terribly sick with it, but it may have added to his already weakening state. My brother Alan was with him and said Dad just slipped away quietly without distress or discomfort -- just the way he would have wanted to go.
The funeral was this past Friday. We spoke about the constancy of Dad's life -- his faith, his hard work, his humour, his devotion to his family. It seemed fitting to have both laughter and tears intermingled in the same moment. Dad had had a good life. He had loved and been loved. None of us had left anything unsaid or regretted.
At the funeral I read aloud this poem called "The House by the Side of the Road" by Sam Walter Foss. I can't remember when I first read it, but it has always made me think of Dad and of his patient acceptance of both the good and bad of life.
The House by the Side of the Road
by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by –
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears –
Both parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by –
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish – so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
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Linking up today with the Five Minute Friday writing community, writing about the word BOTH.
