Weep for me
Mom, Dad weep for me
For the drooping bouquet of buttercups I brought you when I was little,
For the times I sought comfort in your arms when I was scared,
For the perfect throw to first base,
For the dropped infield fly.
I know that my mother turned to my father in the night,
Saying please dont let anything happen to my little boy.
I know that my father made pledges he knew he had no way to keep.
I knew their love, every day of my life.
My darling wife, weep for me,
For I knew your love.
It was always you with whom I wanted eternity,
With whom I wanted children of our own,
Wiping noses, carrying them on my shoulders when they are tired.
Marines with whom I shared danger, hardship and mirth,
I thank you for your friendship, for your help.
I tried my best to keep you safe, so that you might go home whole.
I love others who have always loved me,
But none more than you, my brothers.
My countrymen, my fellow Americans, I freely chose to serve you in this way.
I was proud to serve, glad to wear the uniform.
Did I die for anyone's freedom, in the defense of my country and loved ones?
Ask yourselves when you look into the faces of those I loved.
Go and act as their eyes tell you.
I am part of you, from you, of you.
Am, not was, for I live in you.
Doug Nelson - 10 May 2006
posted by fulvio at 18:34
6 Comments:
Dear Parents of Alex,
Doug's poetic utterances written in Alex's voice move me each time I read them. I only know you Gilda, but through this tragedy have been graced also by the spirit of those mighty men in your life - husband and son. Bravo to you both for the harmony you created in your home and for the example you set for service in your community - near and far. Alex carried that with him in his search for his beloved and in his role as leader of soldiers.
I hope our humble messages shed even a tiny glimmer of human kindness in your lives through this ordeal. When you need further comforting words down the road,
may you find the strenght to call upon us who are reluctant to intrude.
Fellow mother of a son who's seen war,
Susan Adams
Dearest Alex, my first grandchild,
I miss the ray of sunlight that was always a part of your presence among us and the sense of strength, hope, and goodness you imparted to us all. I will forever carry in my memory your sweet voice calling me 'Lita'
Your grandmother (Lita)
We recieved our yard sign today commenmerating your son and were more than proud to post it on our front lawn. Although we did not know your son, the descriptions on this blog make him seem to have been kind, considerate, funny and brave. Our thoughts and prayers are with you during this dificult time.
GIFTED MOMENTS
Is that you Alex? Running up to the doorstep, ringing the doorbell, looking for Paolo? What energy between the two of you! What joyful adventures of imagination in play! Your blue sparkling eyes, I can see them. Your curious look, your genuine spirit—welcome, Alex, come on in…
Today, a different day, different sounds and sights. The smiling blue eyes, the genuine spirit, they are present.
The thick quietness of aching hearts fills the wait in the narthex. Our son, you belonged to us all as son, as brother, as husband. You submitted to the greatest sacrifice, and now are endraped by a flag of stripes. And you were a star to us in so many ways. “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
A barrier of flags lining the cathedral entry, so colorful and majestic, solemnly held with caring and respectful arms by men and women who know. Know the sacredness of grief. Know the sorrowfulness of war. Still, courageously on guard.
The shepherd’s staff. I hear it beating rhythmically against the unflinching marble floor. It is the sole entrance song. It is steady. It is sad. But it is reassurance of the shepherd’s Presence. “For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”
The pure sounds of an angelic choir, how it soothes the soul! Voices singing together anointing our wounds.
Framed in gothic art, as though brought forth from the altar, a violinist suddenly appears. He draws my heart into a dance with beauty as he pours his magic into strings through the wood of a tree. So plain, strings and wood, transformed into heavenly joy.
Voices from the pulpit. Words of hope. Words of agony. So poignant and distinguished, a fellow Marine declares: “You thought you lost your only child, but I, am his brother.” My mother-heart is pierced, and my tears join the symphony of mourning. I am reminded of Jesus’ tender care for his mother’s suffering as He died, saying to John, “Behold, your mother!”
Was it really a day in late May? With such a crisp, strong wind? Impossible to miss, wrapping each of us in its currents. Insisting on being noticed. “The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes; so it is with every one who is born of the Spirit.” Like Nicodemus I question, How can this be?
The hands, gloved in white. Six men, moving as one. So excruciating, at the gravesite. A moment stretched out into time without time. Hands moving in fluid harmony, like the angelic choir. Hands speaking of dignity and honor. With grace.
We must turn away to leave. Must we, must we go now? Aching. Sacred sorrows, beyond knowledge, beyond words. We scream, we cry, we wonder at this taking. But there are comforts, gems of sights and sounds gifted to us today. For as long as we have the grace of remembering, the sights and sounds of Alex will bring us joy.
Now my dear friends Gilda and Fulvio, it is you who have gone before us. You have suffered our greatest fear and terror. Strength out of weakness? New life out of grief? Peace, not as the world gives? These are the hopes. What more can man do to you? You have gone before us, and having had to give all, you will have a treasure to give to others.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.”
(Reflections on the celebration of Alex’s life, May 23, 2006 by Joanne Ugolini)
Beautiful poem.
Fire and Rain by James Taylor
Won't you look down upon me, Jesus
You've got to help me make a stand
You've just got to see me through another day
My body's aching and my time is at hand
And I won't make it any other way
I've seen fire and I've seen rain,
Seen sunny days that I thought would never end...
But I always thought that I'd see you one more time again....
Sweet Alex, my mother's heart is broken.
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