This afternoon a young man, a teammate, and a friend died. Ben Gutenberg was only eighteen and just started William and Mary college this past September. A week or so ago Ben was in a car accident that took his fencing coach's life and took his a week later. We will miss you, Ben.
Since my words in this situation are probably either too trite or cliche in some way, I think it's best I leave this emotion of loss to the poets.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
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 glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
Mary Frye (1932)
Shanti, shanti, shanti
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