Corey's Dad

Now here's a sad old thing --> Corey's Dad died yesterday.

I surfed on into Corey's blog shortly after I first discovered blogs. I like her photography (better than Pioneer Woman's). I've hungered for the meals she describes. I like that cerise cardi she wore to French Husband's do. I especially like her helpful chats about buying French antiques... (in sunny Derbyshire we call "antiques," "tat!")

But more than this, I like her candid revelations. So American. So for Corey, French Husband, Chelsea and Sacha, this is for you; (in English "ships" are assigned the female gender (how very French), but for today, they assume the male gender, for George);

A ship sails and I stand watching till he fades on the horizon

And someone at my side says "He is gone."
Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. He is just as large now as
when I last saw him. His diminished size and total loss from my sight is in
me, not in him.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says his is gone

there are others who are watching him coming over their horizon

and other voices take up a glad shout "There he comes!"
That is what dying is.

An horizon and just the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, Oh Lord, that we may see further

Bishop Brent

(because, if I'm good enough and I die and return to paradise, I'd love to sing like this)