Topic: Dailies

Passings To Remember

(Memorial Day 2010)

by

Leo Crocker Rogers

My Bobbie cat was a Manx – smart as a whip. She protected my slow-of-thought tomcat from the mocking birds that dive-bombed Tommy from the huge tree in our backyard. Bobbie was attacked by a Siberian Husky, some 10 times her weight, and nearly tore the Husky’s nose off his face when the Husky lunged at her. She and I were the best of friends. She was trustworthy, cuddly, and could well take care of our family. I was off to school when my parents said that Bobbie had not returned home for a week. I was concerned, but my life was full at school. I inquired many times, but Bobbie never returned. It was after schooling that I began to write of Bobbie’s exploits and to remember how precious she was. Today, I think of her.

My dad was a father to me – smart as a whip. He protected me; built from scratch the first TV set in San Diego, California; coupled WWII soldier in the Pacific with their parents in the U.S.A. via his ham radio station; he was fearless from my point of view. I worked with him each Saturday evening in his shop. He built things, and I built smaller things. He taught me to use tools. Together we built a 40 foot tower for his 20 meter beam antenna. He helped me tether my energies. I lived in another state after college, It was then that my mother called for me to come home. I sat beside my dad and sang a Christian hymn and said the Lord’s prayer to him. I know he could hear me as I have been in a similar situation, and I could hear those speaking to me although I could not speak. He passed on quietly. For years I could not sing that hymn without tears. I think of my dad often – more feel what he meant to me.

My Skipper dog was a Schipperke – smart as a whip. He and I ran 41 minute 10ks. He learned to obey verbal commands, then hand signals, then to read written commands. He was hit by a car when 6 months old. I cleaned him, his head, his side, his hunches. He lay on my bed for three days without moving as we prayed, he ate little and licked only spoon-fulls of water. I was with him almost constantly. He healed through prayer. One tooth was crooked, his side had less hair and his haunch was somewhat irregular. Did I mention that he and I, after that healing, ran 6 3/4 minute miles for 10Ks (in Phoenix weather)? He was curious, liked some people, barked at others. He and I spent thousands of hours together. We would race up our house stairs, and we took nightly walks – he untethered. One evening, he went to our back yard an laid down beneath a large bush. He went to be alone to die. I carried him into the house, made a soft bed for him, and put water in his mouth. I lay beside him and held him close, and as with my dad I sang Christian hymns to him and said the Lord’s prayer as he passed on. I wrapped his body in a cloth and put him in a box at the street curb for Animal Control to take away. I have written a book about Skipper. I think of him often. By the way, he spent his last six months with a cat named Sophia that joined our family. He taught her to go for walks at night as did he and I. How she learned to come back from walks and wait inside the door for me to say, "Good walk, Sophia." just as I had with Skipper and to race up the stairs of our home and wait at the top for me to say "You won.", I do not know. Sophia looks for Skipper every day.

During the time of passing, it occurs to me that those passing without fear, while perhaps comforted by those around, really can handle the passing without the others present. Those near, as I was with my dad and Skipper, can feel some comfort at being close, but I believe my dad and Skipper were in their own world, as was Bobbie – reconciling a few details and putting aside the sting of death without my help.

I was not with my mother, with whom I had spent 24 hours a day nursing and praying for two years, but I am told that she folded her hands on her bosom and went to sleep. She and I had read and studied the Bible thousands of hours. Those times were good for us both. But when she passed, it was her passing, not mine.

If we know who we are, Bobbie did, my dad did, Skipper did, my mother did, then passing is without fear. When one is reconciled to life eternal, the name of death is not ours to own. When I died once, I died alone, and I then I awoke. There was no fear.

Is it best to overcome fear before our passing? I would say so. That is why we study the Bible and share spiritual truths with others we can trust. But even if have no one we can trust, we still can know who we are. That knowing removes the sting of death. With dignity, we can pass and in so doing, those left behind can live without regret, guilt, or remember anything about us but our best.

When I think about home, I think about Bobbie, Ralph, Skipper, and Mary, my mother, and I say, "Thank you for being an entity to remember with a glad heart."

When I think about my home-land, I say, "Thank you who pray for peace and those who have given their lives that I may pray for peace." One body we. Living is eternally now.