"Look for me under your boot-soles . . . "

Heather's grandfather Ted died on Wednesday morning. He was 96 years old. As I've mentioned in previous posts, Ted was only told about Heather's sexuality back in September. Heather never told him for fear that he might not handle the news well. Ted suffered a stroke and had been increasingly frail over the last year. When Heather's mother and uncle eventually told him that Heather was not only a lesbian, but also about to marry a woman, he didn't bat an eyelid. "If you're happy, I'm happy," he told Heather on the phone. By December, he couldn't walk more than a few steps unassisted and needed an oxygen tank nearby at all times. Despite this, he flew to Toronto to attend our wedding. He was a real champion.

We were due to fly back to Australia today, but instead we flew back to Florida on Thursday. Ted's funeral was held yesterday. Harris, the family's minister and friend, led the service. In a deeply moving remembrance of Ted's life, Harris spoke of his love for his family, his strong sense of justice, and his passion for fishing.

At the graveside, we went up one by one to sprinkle the coffin with holy soil from Israel. Harris read part of Whitman's "Song of Myself", and surely no one could wish for a more beautiful parting statement than this one:

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.