O Savannah! Savannah, I knew you not
but for the tales of brave end to many adventures.
And your quest, an explorer of love
that wisp of fairness
that bond above.
A spate of garbling cries, laughter from which we die,
a sentence of truth, where life spat out lies.
The captain has thrown us on the rocks
Though tugging wind yet no horizon near,
he lambasts a sweet sound, like a voice or melody,
slowly losing all its fear.
I fear naught, I fear naught.
My friend David Bordon has walked a nearly identical path to me in his life with daughter Savannah. I imagine us walking a country path, many different trees and flowers, insects and odors. He seems to know the path better than me and more often than not is a step ahead. But here our paths diverge and when I meet him down the road, it will not be the same. But, wherever there may be a gap in our coincidental experiences, it is bridged by a bond one shares, that exceptional bond of unimaginable, undeterrable love, for your vulnerable child. The absolute utility of love lays its bones bare with the loss he now suffers, the unexpected passing of his daughter just two days ago, March 5. Words mean little and thus David gives us but a few words, succinctly drafted, of the life together that has ended. I know that life deserves far more attention, than he can provide at the moment. But more will come, to move us to understanding, when the time is right. Still I cannot speak for David and thus I cannot do justice, to the depth of the connection he knew. More important though is the beauty with which his daughter Savannah expressed life, leading to unimagined joy. A life ostensibly placed in her parents good keeping, and their hands, loving and strong, were filled to overflowing. I cannot imagine how a human being is still held together with such an experience unfolding. I am in contact with very few, my circle is nearly hermetic, but half that circle is comprised of parents who have lost their child.
Often the inevitability of it all, makes it that much more bitter. I cannot speak for David but imagine that anger is not the emotion he is seeking now. The only thing I can imagine he knows, is that the beauty of the life, as devastating as exquisite as they lived it, was more worthwhile than can ever be put to words.