Farewell

I started this blog as a weekly email to my mother-in law, so her Portland, Maine, residency would not keep her from keeping up with her granddaughter. 

Marian adored getting the weekly photos of the rapidly growing redhead. She kept photos on rotation on her laptop and never failed to tell the latest story to whoever would listen. 

We always knew Gary - Jeff, Jennifer and James' dad and Alison's grandpa -  liked the missives, too. But it wasn't until his passing that I realized he was as gabby about her and the rest of his family as she was.

We said goodbye to Gary last week. Not the final goodbye, because that will come later when Jennifer and Peter, James and David, Jeff, Ali and I go back to Turks and Caicos to scatter a portion of his ashes in the place where he was the happiest (next perhaps to the horse track) after Marian's passing.

Jeff gave a eulogy that any father would be proud to receive. 

Together with other family members and many friends, we laughed. We cried. We remembered. We took comfort in the shared history and new perspectives about an impressive man.

Gary wasn't perfect, and his last several years were not his best. But oh, the years that came before that. 

It was a life that left deep and positive impressions on more than a few people. The Maine House of Representatives - where he served five terms before being term-limited out of office just before I joined the family - sent flowers. U.S. Rep. Susan Collins - who he worked for a bit just as I came to know him - sent notes to each of the children.

In addition to Jeff and the minister's remarks, two former Maine state legislators came to the service and spoke when the congregation was asked if anyone else wanted to remark on Gary's life. His best friend, Dick Moore, spoke.  And those who attended during visitation and afterward, or in notes, calls, texts and posts, told story after story about a kindness he'd shown, a helping hand to a co-worker, humor he'd shared. Most of them included a reference to stories he'd tell about his family. A legislative seat-mate talked about how "Gary's family was so important to him. That was always clear.  And when that granddaughter came along, oh!"

It's the first loss that Alison has faced. She was too young when my parents died to remember them. She has some memories of Grammie Reed that are text-book examples of how important demonstrations of love are in those formative years. 

Ali was almost 6 when Marian passed away, so her memories are more visceral and based a lot on our stories and the tons of photos we have of them together. But she knew Gary. Knew how proud he was of her. Knew him as a kind soul who had only the highest of hopes for her. 

So many friends and family members sent love, comments and contributions to the organizations Gary most wanted to support that it was, to be honest, kind of overwhelming. 

He was Marian's husband. He was our dad. He was Ali's grandpa. 

But he was also a great and loyal friend, a mentor, a helpful boss and coworker, a dedicated civic leader, a good neighbor. An honest-to-God good person. And, as we remembered while going through hundreds of photos, a happy person full of life and high hopes for those he loved.

Even in his most recent years, as his health diminished and he struggled to deal with being a widower, he was a good, good man. His caregivers - and waitresses throughout the Portland area - remembered him as a gentleman first and always. 

In his eulogy, Jeff paraphrased Ann Sexton, the poet: “It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who we remember he was."  

Gary Wallace Reed will be remembered well.