Kevin Ellis George
23/03/23 – 09/01/14
My father has left this ‘vale of tears’ – taken the light of his wisdom, his laughter, his intelligence and his love – to another realm. In that place, I know his light will continue to shine and expand and his soul will reflect on the learning of his 90 years, the insights he gained, his vast achievements, his good fortune, and perhaps, his regrets. And then, in time, he will decide to return. He will choose to reconnect with those us who have been traveling through lifetimes with him – and we will live and love together again. But for now, in this world there is an aching hole, where memories, words, images, a lifetime of them, slip in and out – insubstantial, ethereal, elusive, now the flesh and blood man who created them has departed. And yet they are not. They are real. They are streams of energy, as real as the energy that swirls in the molecules of my body, sitting here, pretending to be solid. My memories of my father, his many words of wisdom, his understanding of truth, his unconditional love, the significance of his well-lived life – are part of me…….as much a part of me and as real as my entire life up to this moment. For what is this life I’ve lived, but a memory?? We are all as insubstantial as ghosts. We are all a composite of stories and memories of the past. Death simply removes the illusion of the security and continuance of form – and replaces it with truth.
So Dad, my tears and the sadness I feel about losing you, are natural and right – my heart and body’s response to the knowledge that I will never see you or hear your voice again, seek out your wise counsel, listen to your stories, stand in admiration of your courage. You, my father, the man, are lost to me for as long as I will live. Grief is hard, it hurts. Yet I know without a shadow of doubt that the enormity of your life and your large soul interlaces with my own. It always has, but now your form has gone, I feel the energy of who you were more keenly. My children embody so much of you – your lifetime in aviation, building and design – they each have a share of your special talents. And I have your words, your love of philosophy and spirituality, your understanding of the continuation of life, of karma and reincarnation, your disdain for petty authority. You were a freedom fighter, you stood up for what was right and to hell with the consequences – you were never afraid to speak your truth, to stand up for the underdog, to take absolute responsibility for yourself, your family, your health, the business of life. You had a deep regard for your ancestors, our forebears, who gifted us with their struggles and triumphs. And now, with your inspiration, I will work on embodying your courage, the strength of your will, your endurance and your willingness to give all that you had, to help others without expectation of reward or recognition, and your humility.
I tried to get you to record the stories of your life – but sadly, you never did. Now all those stories, like your life itself, lie in the domain of our memories. You had so many. You always talked about your ‘adventures in the war’ – as if being a bomber Captain with the Royal Air Force in the Mediterranean theatre of WWII, at barely 20 years of age, was just that – an adventure. But I remember you telling me, with a wistful look in your eye, and a glimmer of tear, that of the 11 fledgling pilots photographed on the deck of the ship bound for Canada in 1941, only four came home. We know you were fast-tracked to become a commissioned officer at such a young age – because they recognized the level of your natural ability as a pilot. That ability stood by you well. You only stopped flying at 87. What an achievement! the oldest flying pilot in New Zealand. And it went, like so many of your distinctions, largely unrecognized. You always knew, you said, that you had a very good guardian angel. Touche to that.
Well Dad, your guardian angel has called you home. It is our loss. The pain of grief is the price we pay for having had the great good luck to have had you as a father, grandfather, husband, uncle and friend. You live on in the hearts and minds of all of us. And until we meet up again, in the next world, the next life, fly free – no plane required now, and know that you did the best anyone ever can do in this world – you lived a long, healthy, adventurous, creative, loving life. It was a hell of a success, your big life. And if none of us ever thought to tell you that before, I’m telling you now. I know you wont be resting in peace – because you will be far too busy being and doing, whatever it is you do where you are. Enjoy the freedom! I know you will. We’ll miss you, we love you – and thank you, for being my father.
So sorry for your loss, Linda. My father passed in late-Summer 2007 — I still miss him *and* feel him present in so many ways. ‘Safe passage’ to him, and wishing you well. ~ Jamila
Thank you Jamila for your kind thoughts…. yes I am sure I will be missing my father too – for many years to come. Love to you…
Reblogged this on Late.Shift and commented:
I just think this is beautiful and take the liberty of reblogging it for no other reason than its inherent beauty, compassion, sensitivity, emotional bond. I don’t think, I have ever felt anything alike as the author of this wonderful blog post describes her relationship with her late father. It makes me wish I had know this person in real life myself.
I just think this is beautiful and took the liberty of reblogging it – hope, it’s ok.? – for no other reason than its inherent beauty, compassion, sensitivity, emotional bond. I don’t think, I have ever felt anything alike as you describe your relationship with your late father in this wonderful blog post. It makes me wish I had know this person in real life myself.
Werner, thank you. I’m happy you felt that way…. I simply needed to put my feelings into words – and to have shared them, and have others connect with them – makes this time a little less lonely. I so appreciate your thoughts. I’m still feeling sad – and yet, driving home just now, I thought – after so many adventures, in the war, flying all his life, he dies peacefully in a hospital bed at 90 – wow – that is something isn’t it. Lots of love to you and yours ….
But linda,there are 7 billion people on this planet and if we add 13 billion of previous times that makes 20 billion individuals.Surely not even percent can claim to be unique,your father lived a charmed and long life and i presume unprententious.Living efficiently and alleviating people’s troubles as much as possible is the modest goal that i have always strived for,standing out in these times is passe.Look out ‘mandela effect’ by fiona broome,we are doing a researching on alternate timelines.
Hi Vivek. I’m not sure what your point was about the ’20 billion’…. Can you clarify.? I believe we are unique. As each snowflake is… I think, if we are using the word ‘charmed’ to describe my father’s life – then it was charmed because he made it so. And yes, it is true he had a valuable guardian angel – I see that as good karma. He was meant to make it through the war years…. I’m missing him still. Thanks for touching base…
Hi again, Due to haste i missed a word,i meant not even ‘1’ percent,we don’t have to be unique, we have to be considerate towards others and utilise our particular endowments towards helping others who don’t have them.Your father obviously was endowed with good mental and physical faculties and he did help others without being indulgent.With charmed i mean that he played his role properly and when a person realises and acts according to his acquired attributes,the angels definitely guard over him.I can imagine your father having stoic dispassionateness and a general attitude of caring towards all.