Rest in Peace

Today, one of my favorite people I knew while I was growing up passed away. She's been battling cancer for, oh, six years or so, and it was time for her to go. Mae lived a block or so away, and she was so outgoing. It didn't matter who you were, what you were doing with your life, or where you were going, because she loved everyone. She was so accepting and so truly loving that it was hard not to feel that way about others when you were around her. My first year at girls camp was scary for me; all the older girls intimated me. Mae was our "tent mother," if you will, and made sure that all of us understood that she loved us and was going to be here for us. She sought out the ones who were scared or homesick or who just needed a buddy, and she always had the right thing to say at the right time.

Also, on Tuesday, another one of my favorite childhood people passed away from heart failure. I grew up near Merrill; his granddaughter was my elementary school best friend. He was the stake patriarch when Amber and I got our patriarchal blessings. He always had popsicles for us to devour. He let us ride our bikes through his front and back yards. He had an amazing array of giant pies in his backyard, which Becky and I would use as forts or houses, and which I know Ryan used with Teisha and which Dan used with Melissa as they were growing up. Merrill just loved you and had the greatest sense of humor; I loved going to see him and he was always so happy to see me.

I will miss both Mae and Merrill very much, as I'm sure many others will as well. Both of them inspired me, and many others, to be my best. Both of the made sure I knew I was important at a time when, like most young teens, I felt I wasn't. They have been so loving and so kind to so many people, and I hope I can be as good as they were. The world could use more people like Mae and Merrill.

In order to honor them, I have posted a poem which I will dedicate to them.

"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night"
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.