George H. Hale - Memorial Tribute Poem by James B. Earley

George H. Hale III - Memorial Tribute

November 1987 - August 2013

Delivered

11 August 2013

Vallejo Yacht Club

Vallejo, California

Good morning. During summer 1990 or '91, I gifted a friend and co-worker an autographed copy of 'A Vision Of Home, ' a volume of poetry I'd published. A couple weeks later she called with a message of appreciation, speaking of the inspiration she'd found within its pages. During the conversation she stated that she had a poem she'd like to share with me. Periodically, I'd remind her of the promise. Twenty plus years ensued, and still no poem. This past June I received a brief note from her advising that she and her husband were spending a few days in the Colorado mountains. That she just needed to get away for awhile. Enclosed with the message was a poem with no accompanying commentary. Reading its words through, and knowing her family history, I readily concluded that this was the poem she’d internalized all those many years. Its compassionate text had placed the tragic death of my friend’s two year-old son in spiritual perspective. The poem, titled 'A Child Of Mine, ' by the poet Edgar Albert Guest:

'I'll lend you, for a little time,
A child of mine, He said.
For you to love the while he lives,
And mourn for when he's dead.
It may be six or seven years,
Or twenty-two or three.
But will you, till I call him back,
Take care of him for Me?
He'll bring his charms to gladden you,
And should his stay be brief.
You'll have his lovely memories,
As solace for your grief.
I cannot promise he will stay,
Since all from earth return.
But there are lessons taught down there,
I want this child to learn.
I've looked the wide world over,
In search for teachers true.
And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes,
I have selected you.
Now will you give him all your love,
Nor think the labour vain.
Nor hate me when I come
To take him home again?
*
*
I fancied that I heard them say,
'Dear Lord, Thy will be done! '
For all the joys Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we'll run.
We'll shelter him with tenderness,
We'll love him while we may,
And for the happiness we've known,
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for him,
Much sooner than we'd planned.
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And try to understand.'

During formidable times such as this, we seek a measure of comfort, some spiritual understanding of one of the greater pains in the annals of parental anguish. Yet try as we may, making sense of the experience remains the elusive commodity. And so we leave that wisdom to a Higher power with an humble acknowledgment of thanks for the time allotted within our physical presence. And we go forward confident that death cannot possibly destroy life, because our loved ones dwell on within our memory. And most often with a spiritual countenance even more magnificent than ever before.
Difficult though it is to accept their passing, we realize that death is a necessary passage through which at God's appointed time, we all must travel. We understand and appreciate that significance, for death is simply the mandated process in the continuum of life itself.
May I share with you please, the poem 'Patches.' An original verse that explores the essence of that ageless interaction of life and death, and vividly illustrates the unique connection of one to the other;

'When death ends life
A thread is torn
The knot is tied
And the child is born

The cycle but
A fabric patched
Together bound
Though unattached

The needle sews
Yet darkness reign
While shadows ask
Why is the pain

When death ends life
And the thread is torn
And the knot is tied
And the child is born'

Challenging questions linger, while life and death remain the mysterious norm. Of the two, I find death the most vexing. Violent death, or peaceful transition? Therein dwells the crisis of acceptance, where the mind tends to project greater questioning toward violent death, than that of peaceful transition. The ongoing struggle I find in that, is in the difficulty of accepting death equally. But faith I learned at my mother's knee, teaches me that death, however it invades ones existence is simply another complexity of God's Master plan. That spiritual construct for our eventual reunification at some future place and time. And in that thought, I'm mindful of the American Missionary, Bishop Charles Henry Brent, and his poignant illustration that dying is in fact God’s idea of transitional living. Simply put, the ultimate spiritual experience;

'A ship sails and I stand watching
till she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says,

'She is gone! '

Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large now as when I last saw her.
Her diminished size and total loss from my sight
is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says, 'She is gone, '
there are others who are watching her
coming over their horizon and other voices
take up a glad shout,

'There she comes! '

That is what dying is;
An horizon and just the limit of our sight.

Lift us up, Oh Lord, that we may see further.'

Tracey, George, and to the entire Hale Family...we beg God's blessings throughout. Thank you all for this privilege.