Hundreds of people gathered this past Saturday to pay tribute and celebrate the life of "Coach Wilk". I'm sure there were hundreds more who wanted to be there but couldn't for a multitude of reasons. In spirit, all of who know George were there, including George himself. Song and prayer, laughter and tears and one word shared by different people, "awesome, courageous, inspiring, and Master of the Universe to name but a few. It was celebratory but I was stricken by the sadness of George's death. I don't know if I was crying more for myself or George. Seeing this larger than life, fighting spirited young man pass left me weak in the knees. The journey is too short. I've had scleroderma a long time, I've dodged the bullet a few times in the past. Will I dodge it again until later than predicted? You can't help but think about your own mortality. You begin to negotiate with disease. "Just stay were you are" I whisper, "don't take anymore for now."
I'll still pull from George's resolve and hope I can be as strong as he. At least I've reached a point where I let myself be sad, not push it away, or pretend sclerowoman is a figment of my imagination. It's the elephant in the room so to speak.
I've read George's prayer card, he leaves us with "The Champion's Creed." Then, I remember my sister, Tootise's prayer...she passed over 40 years ago.
thank you, col
ReplyDeletelove, m
George might have only been 58 years old--so young! But he lived his life brilliantly, and it was fuller than that of many people who have gone the distance. I love the prayer. Life is so precious, and short. Love you.
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