A life well lived

This is my last blog for a while. We are off to New York on Saturday for a week, so with Irony, I will not be able to post to all you people in the USof A as I need to be much further away.

Today I, along with my brother attended the funeral of Robert. Rob, his brother Peter, myself and my brother all grew up together. Rob is the first to pass away, so it is a significant moment.

Rob as a kid had a major heart operation, which they said would need to be re-done in 40 years time. They performed the operation on Monday, and whilst the original problem was still Ok they found something that had been lurking their since birth. Rob never made it off the operating table. He was 57. He left a wife of 35 years, a daughter and grand daughter, all of whom he loved dearly, as they loved him.

I picked my brother up to take him to the church, and he said that there would be quite a crowd, as Rob was a man liked by all. When we got there, there were many, maybe upto 200 people waiting outside for the cortege to arrive. A large part of those who had come to pay their respects were steelworkers. We all worked in the steelworks in those days, Rob was the last one of the 4 of us left their. He was still working there when he went in to hospital, which is some achievement in a steeltown, with few works left.

In the service Robs brother Pete, spoke of the childhood days, playing football, subbuteo, pea picking on the farms. He talked about how they as brothers started to travel in Germany, loving the culture and the beer. He talked about how Rob could always be the maker of a party, no matter how long he had known people. He talked about, how at 55 they had been driving home one day and called in to a strange pub, in a strange town and heard some even stranger music, which they both grew to love. It was called Trance music, they played some at the funeral and It was the most incongrous, out of place music a 55 year old would pick, but that was Rob.

Towards the end a poem was read out. As I listened, tears filled my eyes and I turned around to see 110+ steelworkers stood still with tears streaming down their faces, not flinching, heads held high, looking straight at the coffin. And we just cried.

Tonight at the meeting I listened to a woman talk about how she had been to a school to give a talk about success. She talked of Obama, Mandela et al. She talked about her own book and how successful it had been. She talked about her own success and how good she was.

I thought about all us hardened steelworkers and our tears, and our lack of shame at those tears and at our dignity. I thought about why we had all cried and it was because Rob had touched all our lives in such a fun and positive way, and we had lost something dear to us.

Success isn't what that lady talked of.

The meaning of success? A tear of rememberance and thanks at a life well lived.

I have posted the poem below.

Have a good next few days all of you.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there;
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there;
I did not die.