|Jim Playing in the Dog Crate as a Young Child|
Five months ago today my youngest brother Jim died. I’ll never understand why he left so soon but this poem, read at his memorial service, brings some comfort, some reason, to the unexplainable. Jim loved to joke, laugh, and his eyes twinkled as he told a story or pulled a prank.
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He who lives most,
feels the noblest, acts the best.
And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest:
Lives in one hour more than in years do some.
|Sporting Reindeer Ears at Christmas Dinner|