How beautiful is the world from where you are?
Do you see the hate and the disarray?
Or do you only notice the gradual spin of the green and blue marble?
I, at the tender age of five months and six days old, had no memory of the day you left.
Mom always told me that you were a smart man, educated in ideology and theology,
that you could pick up a Bible and read it cover to cover from an unbiased perspective.
Yet when faith got sparse, you could use it as a guide.
A life reference point.
Only a few choice items have been relayed to me about the night that you went home to meet your maker.
In explaining such things to me, I see how poetic your daughter could really be.
"I stopped on the way home from Anchorage to feed you. That night, I saw the most beautiful of all the aurora. In all colors-some I've never seen before, dancing and popping. I believe that was my dad-your grandfather, giving a final goodbye.
"I know he wasn't scared to die."
Undoubtedly, her unintentional inner poet was passed to her from you.
I know I'll see you one day, when my number has been called by the Almighty,
but while my physical body is here on Earth, I'll find sanctuary in the aurora.