the wake

i never met cav, but knew him through ebeth. it was a real privilege to read the autobiography of cav's grandfather. fare well ! hamburger

I can't think of a person I'd rather have represent us at Cav's funeral than Beth. Are all Canadians that nice?

Goodbye, Cav. Luv ya.

I'll be seeing you in all the ol' familiar places...

Love ya, Cav.

Bye.

I'll take that too fbaezer

Good bye Cav.

Merry meet,
Merry part...
and soon ,
Merry meet again.

Goodbye Cav

My thoughts are at the funeral, too.

One of my closest friends almost died two years ago from a staph infection. Rereading the posts from Cav's last week in the hospital reminded me. I haven't talked to him in a couple of weeks. I'm going to e-mail him right now and tell him how much I love him. I think Cav would approve.

Bye Cav.. I'll miss you.

For the Family and Friends of Cav:

"I will open my heart in trust that,
in ways I do not now understand,
my loved one will continue to be present in my life."

~~Martha Whitmore Hickman

Wish I could find a Sinatra version, but this will do.

I'll Be Seeing You

i keep reading this thread and each post just makes me realize how loved Cav is, and how loving the members of this community are. im greatful to be a part of this.

That song manages to bring on tears squinney…I found an mp3 of the song

http://www.mobydickthemusical.com/music/rlother/Liberace_-_Ill_Be_Seeing_You_-_Liberaces_Greatest_Hits.mp3

Here's to Cav!

Thanks colorbook. Sounds much better than my attempt to blubber through it.

I thought this was rather beautiful:

"It is eternity now. I am in the midst of it. It is
about me in the sunshine; I am in it, as the butterfly in the light-laden air. Nothing has to come;
it is now. Now is eternity; now is the immortal
life".

The Story of My Heart
Richard Jefferies
1848-1887

This reminds me of the "Funeral Blues"

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

(WH Auden)