You can't change the direction of the wind: you can only adjust the sails.
Thomas Donald Patrick Lawrence
My mother always said I would be late for my own funeral, a statement brewed from dealing with the tardiness of a child who lived in her head on the corner of Daydream and Fantasy Street. But alas, my mother will be wrong. I won’t be late because I won’t be in charge of the day. I’ll be wheeled in or placed on a table, on time, probably before the first guests arrive. My funeral will signify the first and the last time I am punctual. Maybe for a lark, I’ll leave instructions to be brought in fifteen minutes after the celebration begins, so everyone can be dismayed about my lateness one last time, you know, for old time’s sake.
Although I’ve courted lateness for years, swallowing the stress of it all, risking life and limb to keep within a fifteen minute window of delay, the ceiling to which I aim for, even paying an expensive fine once for speeding, I really did want to be at my friends gathering on time. The fact that I was late makes me feel ashamed, sort of the same disgrace I feel when I make hubby wait at the airport for hours on end after he’s been away for months. I get worse with age; my lateness grows longer than a fish story exaggerated to yard long proportions.
When I pulled up to the Chester Basin Legion Hall, there were others arriving and I did notice a few stragglers that came in after me, but really, I felt ashamed that I couldn’t make the extra special effort. In my defense I was detained at work, a customer came in as I was about to escape and my son wasn’t back from his errand so I had to hang around for 45 minutes more, cutting into the small window of time I needed to race home for a shower, iron the outfit and drive 20 minutes to Chester Basin. I’m not the kind of gal who prepares in advance, the smart and organized thing to do, especially with a history of lateness behind me. I could have explained and asked the customer to leave the shop but that’s about as good for business as suggesting they put their coffee on the cashier counter.
Stress started to bubble because now I would be making my hubby late or horrors, be left behind while he drove our only vehicle to the funeral. He had the greater connection, he sailed with Thom for years, he wanted and needed to be there on time. Thankfully Rene, a past crew member, flew in from BC and arrived at our house in time for a quick shower so hubby hitched a ride with him, leaving me home to play beat the clock with a hair dryer and then drive on my own. That was the fastest I’ve ever gotten ready for anything, arriving fourteen minutes late, just in time to hear Laura Smith, our wonderfully talented Canadian Icon sing her amazing song “I Built A Boat”.
Someone once said that you measure the worth of a person by how many mourners show for their funeral. Thom obviously had the standing of a well-respected, valuable friend. I wasn’t surprised to see the bulging parking lot and a long string of vehicles hugging both sides of the road, bumper to bumper as far as the eye could see.
The hall, although spacious looked small and intimate from the multitude of friends and family. Like Waldo, there were too many faces to find hubby, so I spied a friend and inched my way toward her. It was a great vantage point to watch the proceedings but standing in heels was an act of torture. The seats looked awfully cozy but they were rewards for the early birds, leaving me on three inch posts that drove the balls of my feet into the floor, especially with 165 lbs bearing down on them. I kept pushing the pain out of my mind, taking turns balancing on one foot like a bird on a perch. I had no right to complain over a bit of discomfort when the room pulsated with disbelief and grief from Thom’s sudden passing, trumping pinched toes and bruised pads. I could have worn comfortable shoes, but I wanted to make an effort, look nice for a change.
I love music. It moves me more than any external stimulus. My body reacts to it, I sway, I tap and I sing if words apply. The pieces performed were well chosen, starting with Thom’s song, “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison the prelude to this celebration of his life and was followed with reflections by friends and more wonderful music selections to sooth the bereaved.
Andre Haines performed “I Feel the winds Of God Today” and a pattern emerged of wind and water, the elements close to Thom’s sailing heart. Don Burch played the French Horn, “The Lost Chord”, a beautifully touching sentiment for his close friend. Joe Carver played guitar and performed “How Great Thou Art”, and brought me back to the days of my father’s strumming and singing in the classic country style.
The duo of Cynthia and Tom Myers sang a blend of “What A Wonderful World” and “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, Laura Smith took the stage again with her song, “Safe Home, Sweet Light”. She really has an incredible talent, a unique gift that distinguishes her from all other artists. Without fail, her voice sends good shivers dancing up and down the spine and raises the hair on my arms. Despite the sombre reason for this gathering, Juanita was truly blessed by all the love and talent around her. What an incredible send-off, the words and melodies floating up and out of the building, the energy forever etched on the universe.
You really do get back what you put out and this gathering of friends and family was proof that Thom and Juanita are good people. Juanita is one of those people who are beautiful inside and out, and is selfless in offering her time to those in need. Even though she just suffered through one of the worst weeks of her life, she rose above her own emotions and organized a magnificent send off for her beloved partner. A talented floral artist, she even made all the flower arrangements that adorned the room and tables. Much thought and care went into this perfect, heartfelt goodbye to her Thom.
The after party was something Thom joked about during an outing with a friend. He said, “When I die, prop me up in a corner and have a party!” And party they did. All the Chester Race Week soirees were dry runs, preparation for this final bash. Almost all the crew, past and present were there and they partied like it was a cure for a hangover. At times I could see pain flit across their eyes, as the absence of their friend washed over the celebration like ocean surf. Tears would alternate shifts with laughter as memories surfaced from their time with Captain Thom. Hey, remember the time when......
Thom’s loss will certainly intensify as time passes. He was the skipper and the core of this sailing group so his death marks the end of a racing era. Every glance at the ocean, every sail on the horizon, every breeze will remind them of their dear friend.
Thom’s ashes rested to the left of the stage encased in a beautiful bronze statue of dolphins playing on cresting waves, the perfect setting to await a summer’s boat ride where he will be scattered on the wind and dance on the water with the shimmering sun, becoming the diamond glints on waves, a fitting farewell for a man who loved the sea.
RIP Thomas Donald Patrick Lawrence, you will be missed.....
Although I’ve courted lateness for years, swallowing the stress of it all, risking life and limb to keep within a fifteen minute window of delay, the ceiling to which I aim for, even paying an expensive fine once for speeding, I really did want to be at my friends gathering on time. The fact that I was late makes me feel ashamed, sort of the same disgrace I feel when I make hubby wait at the airport for hours on end after he’s been away for months. I get worse with age; my lateness grows longer than a fish story exaggerated to yard long proportions.
When I pulled up to the Chester Basin Legion Hall, there were others arriving and I did notice a few stragglers that came in after me, but really, I felt ashamed that I couldn’t make the extra special effort. In my defense I was detained at work, a customer came in as I was about to escape and my son wasn’t back from his errand so I had to hang around for 45 minutes more, cutting into the small window of time I needed to race home for a shower, iron the outfit and drive 20 minutes to Chester Basin. I’m not the kind of gal who prepares in advance, the smart and organized thing to do, especially with a history of lateness behind me. I could have explained and asked the customer to leave the shop but that’s about as good for business as suggesting they put their coffee on the cashier counter.
Stress started to bubble because now I would be making my hubby late or horrors, be left behind while he drove our only vehicle to the funeral. He had the greater connection, he sailed with Thom for years, he wanted and needed to be there on time. Thankfully Rene, a past crew member, flew in from BC and arrived at our house in time for a quick shower so hubby hitched a ride with him, leaving me home to play beat the clock with a hair dryer and then drive on my own. That was the fastest I’ve ever gotten ready for anything, arriving fourteen minutes late, just in time to hear Laura Smith, our wonderfully talented Canadian Icon sing her amazing song “I Built A Boat”.
Someone once said that you measure the worth of a person by how many mourners show for their funeral. Thom obviously had the standing of a well-respected, valuable friend. I wasn’t surprised to see the bulging parking lot and a long string of vehicles hugging both sides of the road, bumper to bumper as far as the eye could see.
The hall, although spacious looked small and intimate from the multitude of friends and family. Like Waldo, there were too many faces to find hubby, so I spied a friend and inched my way toward her. It was a great vantage point to watch the proceedings but standing in heels was an act of torture. The seats looked awfully cozy but they were rewards for the early birds, leaving me on three inch posts that drove the balls of my feet into the floor, especially with 165 lbs bearing down on them. I kept pushing the pain out of my mind, taking turns balancing on one foot like a bird on a perch. I had no right to complain over a bit of discomfort when the room pulsated with disbelief and grief from Thom’s sudden passing, trumping pinched toes and bruised pads. I could have worn comfortable shoes, but I wanted to make an effort, look nice for a change.
I love music. It moves me more than any external stimulus. My body reacts to it, I sway, I tap and I sing if words apply. The pieces performed were well chosen, starting with Thom’s song, “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison the prelude to this celebration of his life and was followed with reflections by friends and more wonderful music selections to sooth the bereaved.
Andre Haines performed “I Feel the winds Of God Today” and a pattern emerged of wind and water, the elements close to Thom’s sailing heart. Don Burch played the French Horn, “The Lost Chord”, a beautifully touching sentiment for his close friend. Joe Carver played guitar and performed “How Great Thou Art”, and brought me back to the days of my father’s strumming and singing in the classic country style.
The duo of Cynthia and Tom Myers sang a blend of “What A Wonderful World” and “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, Laura Smith took the stage again with her song, “Safe Home, Sweet Light”. She really has an incredible talent, a unique gift that distinguishes her from all other artists. Without fail, her voice sends good shivers dancing up and down the spine and raises the hair on my arms. Despite the sombre reason for this gathering, Juanita was truly blessed by all the love and talent around her. What an incredible send-off, the words and melodies floating up and out of the building, the energy forever etched on the universe.
You really do get back what you put out and this gathering of friends and family was proof that Thom and Juanita are good people. Juanita is one of those people who are beautiful inside and out, and is selfless in offering her time to those in need. Even though she just suffered through one of the worst weeks of her life, she rose above her own emotions and organized a magnificent send off for her beloved partner. A talented floral artist, she even made all the flower arrangements that adorned the room and tables. Much thought and care went into this perfect, heartfelt goodbye to her Thom.
The after party was something Thom joked about during an outing with a friend. He said, “When I die, prop me up in a corner and have a party!” And party they did. All the Chester Race Week soirees were dry runs, preparation for this final bash. Almost all the crew, past and present were there and they partied like it was a cure for a hangover. At times I could see pain flit across their eyes, as the absence of their friend washed over the celebration like ocean surf. Tears would alternate shifts with laughter as memories surfaced from their time with Captain Thom. Hey, remember the time when......
Thom’s loss will certainly intensify as time passes. He was the skipper and the core of this sailing group so his death marks the end of a racing era. Every glance at the ocean, every sail on the horizon, every breeze will remind them of their dear friend.
Thom’s ashes rested to the left of the stage encased in a beautiful bronze statue of dolphins playing on cresting waves, the perfect setting to await a summer’s boat ride where he will be scattered on the wind and dance on the water with the shimmering sun, becoming the diamond glints on waves, a fitting farewell for a man who loved the sea.
RIP Thomas Donald Patrick Lawrence, you will be missed.....
Loved Ones
by Merv Mothersell
Loved ones are like the pieces of a puzzle,
They make the picture of life complete and framed.
When death removes one of the pieces,
The picture of life is never the same.
by Merv Mothersell
Loved ones are like the pieces of a puzzle,
They make the picture of life complete and framed.
When death removes one of the pieces,
The picture of life is never the same.
RSS Feed
