As some of you know, my wife of 37 years, Gail Reid-Gurian, passed away on August 16 of pancreatic cancer.   Her memorial service was held at Temple Beth Shalom in Spokane on September 7.   At that service, I read today’s newsletter offering, “Gail’s Final Words.”

I hope you will find that this poem captures Gail’s spirit of love and service, which many of you knew first hand in your interactions with her as GI Managing Director.   May Gail’s life always be remembered for a blessing.  – Michael Gurian

 

Gail’s Final Words

By Michael Gurian

1.

 

My family, my friends, from my new home where everything is music,

I call back to you my tender song.

I was a kind, devoted woman who took life so seriously,

she gave herself young.

Traveling to four continents, I met the God of wonders.

With Gabrielle and Davita, I changed the world my sweet portion.

With Michael, I felt the pulse of eternity.

With Crimson, Clover, all my pets, I knew animals as divine beings.

Devoted to the human heart, I saw into your chests:

A rose from the first garden grows inside you.

You might gather to weep for me now, you might not think

to envy me, but I have my song!

 

2.

 

All who love me, make no mistake: my death has come.

The great bear climbed to the top of the small plum tree–

forgetting her weight, she broke my fragile branches.

My death has come.

The irascible old man at the door, up till now my refuser,

stepped aside to let me pass.  More: he held my hand

through the cruel opening, and into the warm light.

My death has come.

By fault of none, threads of yarn flew out my garden window.

A cat gave chase, chasing them farther away.  What was left to say?

“Go, my little soul,” I said, “Make friends where you can.”

            My death has come.

 

3.

 

All who love me, no matter what you do, remember my song.

For 65 years, a blue-eyed girl collected spring rain in a bowl,

then tripped and tipped her water into the sea.

With your stories, help me climb into my boat of beautiful memories.

Sprinkle the sparkles of my life’s joys over your fine rage.

In my last weeks, you saw the human body become cold and painful,

so, I said to God, “Let me die to give them back their loveliness.”

Please, friends, always remember your own loveliness.

You are the waves sunlight seeks on the water. Your bodies,

no matter their pain, echo the sound of oceans.

Be generous like light, and easy to care for–

hear God’s heart beating in your own heart.

 

4.

 

And when you leave this place today, love your children to their

completeness.  Love your lover without envy.

Hold an old person’s hand.  Each of us wants only to be loved.

And you who run from anxiety to anxiety, run no longer—

the love you need is always inside you.

And you who rush from ambition to ambition,

know what I know now:  rising in our throats, wherever we are,

is the holy voice.

When you leave this place today, grasp your own fragile soul

in your strong hands until you are grasped by it,

even to its breaking point, even to the tipping of your water

into the sea.

 

5.

 

I know this truth from my life:  fear disappears at the doorway

if you have sung to the world

the song you were born for.

Not even a sapling now, not even breath chasing anymore after breath,

I know what I was:  the body of God, breathing.

From now on, please remember me as glistening threads

in the float of the sun.

       I tossed my life out the garden window into the wind–

it was time I go back out to play.

Dear friends, dear family, don’t wait another heartbeat

to make your lives beautiful and brave.

Your death will come.