When I heard that Dagmar had died, all I could think of was what the Tin Man said in The Wizard of Oz: “Now I know I've got a heart, 'cause it's breaking...” When Dagmar died, so did a piece of my heart. I cannot imagine life without her, and yet, I am grateful for the time I had with her.
The world has lost a truly good person, and there are just so few of those around. Many of us have spent the past few days remarking about how unfair this all is—Dagmar was such a good, good person, so why did she have to die? We don’t have answers for that, but what we DO know is that Dagmar gave each one of us so very much. She was a quiet and a private person, but you can rest assured she gave us her best. And her best was just pure goodness.
She gave me a friendship of nearly 21 years. She was my first friend in town—in typical Dagmar style, within a week of my families’ arrival, Dagmar and the kids had come down the block to introduce themselves, and invited us to dinner. We met when Kyle and my son, Peter, weren’t even walking yet, and now they are fine, grown men. Hard to believe that much time has passed—it seems like just the blink of an eye.
You know, some people tell you things; these conversations allow you to decide what kind of person they are, and whether you want to associate with them. Others show you what they are—their words are few, but their actions speak volumes. Dagmar was one of these people—she usually had little to say, but much to show you.
She didn’t have to tell me she loved her kids—I knew it without a doubt, because she was the Girl Scout leader, the homeroom parent, was on the Parent Council, was an RE teacher, and volunteered for EVERYTHING at our schools. And I do mean everything! If she couldn’t volunteer, she showed her appreciation for that coach or music teacher by organizing the end-of-the-season gift or potluck or party. She was at every recital, soccer game, parent conference, and track meet. She was so very proud of the adults Aubryn, Tavia, and Kyle have grown to be, and looked forward to a future with them. It breaks my heart to know she won’t be here to enjoy that.
She loved her friends—she didn’t have to tell us, because we knew—she came to lunch, to coffee, to birthday parties, to garden parties, to art openings, to weddings, to funerals. She was there, whenever we needed her.
And she loved this church—when you think of all the jobs she did here, all the committees she served on, it’s astounding; she was a steady, quiet presence here, and this religious community will miss her.
And the larger community? How will we do manage without her? How will we? Perhaps, in the future, we could ask ourselves, “What would Dagmar do?”, and then do it—I’m sure if we do that, the world will be an excellent place to be.
She will be missed too by her mother, her husband, her co-workers, her book group friends, her bowling team, those who exercised with her, and I could go on…and on...and on. I wish I had words of comfort for you, because I know you are grieving as I am. When I was looking for something to pass along to you tonight, I came across this poem—the author is anonymous, but their words are profound:
They are not dead,
Who leave us this great heritage of remembering joy.
They still live in our hearts,
In the happiness we knew, in the dreams we shared.
They still breathe,
In the lingering fragrance, windblown, from their favorite flowers.
They still smile in the moonlight’s silver,
And laugh in the sunlight’s sparking gold.
They still speak in the echoes of the words we’ve heard them say again and again.
They still move,
In the rhythm of waving grasses, in the dance of the tossing branches.
They are not dead;
Their memory is warm in our hearts, comfort in our sorrow.
They are not apart from us, but part of us,
For love is eternal,
And those we love shall be with us throughout all eternity.
Yes, the world has lost a truly good person, but that means the rest of us need to step up. And what better way to honor Dagmar’s life than by doing just that?
Rest in peace Dagmar; I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the person you thought I could be.
1 comment:
Thanks you Gale.
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