The Celebration of Life display for Dad was deliberately simple (Thoreau-like stripped down), but it had all the essentials. The urn, chosen by Dad, represents transformation. His picture was snapped during a family occasion, mid-laugh. Reading glasses hang out of frame, at the ready to employ. The purple shirt was a favourite, a nod to the purple shirt he wore 53 years ago for his wedding.
The flowers were a cascade of colour, also Dad’s preference. He always loved representation of the all spectrum colours when choosing spring flowers in greenhouses. Less interested in rigid locked in patterns of colour for flower pots and gardens, he preferred the organic explosion of colour and texture from which he could draw his own joyful experience and meaning. Dad would also nod in approval of the mountains and stream in stained glass on the wall behind. Representation of the water element, process and flow, was key. A water fountain had been planned for the room but the stained glass offered the same effect, and spoke to the many spiritual pilgrimmages to the Rocky Mountains.
The roses were laid by Mom, myself and Jason, and my brother. The final four who surrounded him as he passed on, singing, quoting and releasing him with peace and love from this mortal coil. A tribute to his romantic soul.
Two of Dad’s statues sit behind. First, Atlas himself. Dad bought the sculpture for “symbolic reasons”. I realized after his passing that Dad truly was our family’s Atlas. He anchored us, supported us, and ceaselessly worked lifted our spirits us up. Solid. Dependable. Constant.
I gifted the second statue to him several years ago – a small replica of Auguste Rodin’s sculpture The Thinker. This is also Dad. Dad had the richest inner world of anyone I’d ever met. Always thinking, connecting, synthesizing, creating.
And lingering in the background, a symbol of Dad’s second language – music. His guitar. The instrument was cared for with reverence – well-loved and well-played over the years by such a gifted musician and vocalist. He would play favourites in his basement studio, perform gigs, and jam with friends and family. He’d invite even the least musically talented of us to join along, teasing out our inner singers and percussionists. These musical Moments were deceptively simple – but reflecting now, the act of sharing, enjoying, creating beautiful music together tapped into a timeless, sacred ritual, aligning our collective hearts and inspiring transcendent joy.