Dad passed on this past Sunday Morning.
I haven't had the time to sit and put any words together, yet.
I told cousin Chris via Email that Dad's presence has become all the stronger for his absence.
In my typical fashion of just running my thoughts as they come along, here come a few.
Indomitable Spirit. His whole life. The essence of optimism, a fighter to the end, no matter the odds. He would not accept that he could no longer walk without falling over. Don't keep me in this bed. 94 years of living, last Sunday we shared lunch at the Station House Restaurant where he and his loving and devoted partner, Joyce would go every Sunday. The last two days before his passing things caved in on him having to be rescued twice by the local fire department, once he was down he was too heavy to get back up. I was not there. Greeting the fireman by his first name from the floor, was his natural style, it seems he knew every one. The Point Reyes Voice was his own self publication where he could continue to place his enthusiastic thoughts and dreams of a world beyond War and his logical steps as to how to get there. A local 'crackpot' who wanted the town of Point Reyes to plant a tree in honor of all the young men who refused to carry a gun and refused to wear the military uniforms of the nations of the world, he believed we all needed to find a higher level of sovereignty that we could give ourselves to. Against the mainstream, a man alone, ... almost, in his passion for a New World.
Joyful enthusiasm. That's personal, that's what he gave to me, it took me a long time to really see it and get it. Thank you Dad. He was giving it to me all along. That was always the case. 'Guy, your guitar playing is really getting better.' he told me just back around Christmas. I appreciated that because I know he was really being honest and he was coming with his Joyful Enthusiasm in my direction as he pretty much did with everyone. On Saturday night Joyce phoned while I was being a cab driver, she told me of his worsening condition. I planned to bring my guitar out there on Sunday and try to play and sing a whole song (I wanted his thumbs up to tell me whether I was ready to finally get back out there at an open Mic) to him. That didn't happen as I got the call early the next morning, that your Dad has gone.
A very calm and capable Fijian Hospice worker was at his side during that last night. He said that Guy's last words before going to sleep were, 'I am going to have a good dream.' This was in contrast to the two extremely difficult days leading to that evening. His last breath took place while sleeping. A deep exhalation as is common I imagine, at that moment of departure.
A breath, a dream, perhaps of a warm breeze filling the sails of a wondrous and jaunty little vessel on an Ocean. Come climb aboard he' ll be saying.
He didn't really care for sentimental stuff when it came to turning the world towards Peace. It was his mission. Do something was his style.
Guy W. Meyer, Jr.
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