The Little Ship

Yesterday, at Tim Russert's memorial service, Maria Shriver recited the following poem. She said that a friend had given it to her when she was struggling with the death of her cousin, JFK Jr.

The Little Ship

I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea. The setting sun tinted his white sails with a golden light, and as he disappeared from sight a voice at my side whispered, "He is gone".

But the sea was a narrow one. On the farther shore a little band of friends had gathered to watch and wait in happy expectation. Suddenly they caught sight of the tiny sail and, at the very moment when my companion had whispered, "He is gone" a glad shout went up in joyous welcome, "Here he comes!"

Of course I totally cried hearing this. It reminded me of when Mom was in hospice and I imagined Grandma, Aunt Nan, Uncle Ted, Rolly, Aunt Margie, Mom's father all waiting together at Mom's bedside for her to rejoin them.

Oh, and the Russert service concluded with the Israel Kamakawiwo'ole ukulele version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Within a few minutes of the service's completion, a large double rainbow appeared over Washington DC.




Hm.