Chapter 26 graduate

Murray died on a Saturday morning. His family was with him at the time.Robert came back from Tokyo in time to kiss his father goodbye and Qiang was also at home, of course Charlotte, and Charlotte's niece Martha, who wrote and read a poem for his informal farewell That lady, he is compared to a gentle Metasequoia in the poem.They were on duty at his bedside because Murray was in a coma two days after my last visit and the doctor said he could go any minute.But he was not so quick to throw in the towel, and survived another difficult afternoon, and a dark night. Finally, on November 4th, his beloved family left the room for a moment to pour a cup of coffee in the kitchen, the only time since he fell into a coma that Murray stopped breathing without them around.

And so he went. I believe he did it on purpose.I'm sure he didn't want that horrifying moment, when someone saw him stop breathing, and it would haunt him for life, the way he would about his mother's telegram of her death, or his father's dead body in the funeral home. I'm sure he knew he was lying on his bed at home with his books, his notes, and his little potted hibiscus nearby.He hoped to go peacefully, and he got his wish. The farewell ceremony took place on a cold, wet and windy morning.The grass is covered with rain and dew, and the sky is milky white.We stood by the grave, and the pond was so still that we could hear the lapping of the water and see the ducks fluttering their feathers.

Hundreds of people wanted to attend the farewell ceremony, but Charlotte only invited some close relatives and friends to watch the ceremony.Dean Asrod read a few poems.Murray's younger brother David (who still walks with a limp from polio) picked up the shovel, as was customary, and dug earth into the grave. As Murray's urn was lowered into the grave, I looked up and down the cemetery.Murray was right, it was a good spot, with greenery and rolling hills. He said: You speak, I listen. I tried to do what he told me in my head, and was delighted to find that this imaginary conversation felt almost natural.I looked down at my hands, saw my watch, and suddenly understood why.

Today is Tuesday. my father walked us singing every leaf of every tree (every child dares to say spring Hear my father sing and dance) Poems of EE Cummings Murray's son Robert reads the poem in his father's farewell service