October 11, 2009

Elizabeth Howard-Brashars, Russ's oldest child, is Emily and Gene's first granddaughter.  The joy that they felt when she was born was obvious to anyone who was around them for even a few minutes.

As the oldest child in Russ's family, Elizabeth spoke at Gene's funeral service.
Here are her words about her Papa.

Here in this room I see so many reflections of Eugene. Many people here share such a deep relationship with God, like Uncle Steve, which I know was fostered, at least in part, by Gene and Emily. I see in my brother and myself, a great love and respect for nature.  My father and I share his passion for politics and history.  And we are so fortunate that Lynn has his immense talent for writing.  And his writing is what I would like to speak to today. 

I was entrusted with the great honor of publishing his memoirs, and having read the material so many times through revisions and editing, I am always struck by the great moral questions he carried with him as a teenager and as a young man.  Wrestling with delicate issues of faith, responsibility (to God, and country), and human life in the context of war.  Good and evil. And sacrifice for freedom. 

I am finding great difficulty in getting used to a world without my grandfather.  What I will miss the most are his letters.  When I came to visit a few weeks ago, I stayed in his room and I saw a stack of envelopes on his desk.  Stacked, addressed, and ready to go.  That is what kid of man he was; he wrote to his grandchildren and his sisters frequently (often every week).  Looking back through the letters he wrote, I am struck by the depth of emotional character in them; you rarely find meaning of that level anywhere else.  He was always encouraging me to be my best and offering me advice on life.  


In one letter he wrote me, he had this to say -
The most important thing in the game of life is getting to play. A lot of people never get a chance to play.  Many others are afraid to play.  The thing that sets you apart is your desire to play.  Sic 'em.
                                                                                                                                  PaPa

Some people coast through life, unexamined, barely ever scratching beneath the surface.  From the great moral questions he faced as a young man, Gene was no stranger to self reflection, and he desired to live a life intentionally guided by value, integrity, and faith.  He wrote often, filling legal pads in which you could find a letter in a front page and then a garden plan on the back, followed by a poem.  He was a true genius, his mind always going.  I have selected one of his  poems to read to you now. 

LEAVES OF AUTUMN

I sing a song of autumn
Of rock and hill and tree.
I sing a song of longing
For the way life used to be.

Time was when sunlight brightened
The pathway of my life.
Time was when bluebirds warbled
And life was without strife.

But summer follows springtime
And Autumn comes amain,
And winter brings a chilling wind
And brings its icy rain.

The cold of winter hurries
To spread it's driven snow.
The leaves depart their summer home
To seek their crypt below.

Oh, for a time of sunshine
From Indian Summer days,
To sing the song of summer
Of its memories and its ways.

Just to warm my life once more
Ere winter chills my bone.
And I, like the leaves of autumn
Shall seek my eternal home.

We are all so fortunate that we will always have those words, his poetry, his memoirs, and his letters to cherish.  For in them - he will live on forever.