I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my sidespreads her white sails to the morning breeze andstarts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beautyand strength. I stand and watch her until at lengthshe hangs like a speck of white cloud just wherethe sea and sky come to mingle with each other.Then someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!""Gone where?"Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large inmast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side andshe is just as able to bear her load of living freight to herdestined port.Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at themoment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voicesready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"And that is dying. The above passage was written by someone named Henry Van Dyke. He must have known my wife. I can almost see the Tall Ships in Grand Traverse Bay from last year, as we watched them sail South to Traverse City, and she wanted to jump on her "machine" to escort them in to harbor. GrandmaSue loved the water. In her first chemotherapy series in 2002, she somehow figured out a way to get her wetsuit over the chemo pump so she could jump the waves in Lake Michigan on her jet-ski. Thanks Poz for breaking the ice. She was really amazed that cyber-friends could be so nice. Ralph
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