Alan Garinger
Today when I went out to get the paper, I grabbed a jacket because it was cold. It turned out to be my husbands old sweat shirt. It still smelled like him. I hugged it tight and thought of him and our life together and how I was struggling to live up to our goals together when he was alive, how I missed him, but how he was with me always in spirit. His scent lingers on sweat shirts, when the hawks or eagles fly over, or I think I can't do something and I hear his voice saying I can. Or telling me how. Sometimes I feel his presence, hear his voice or see him standing somewhere. ( I don't want to hear about crazy people folks, if I am it's wonderful)
My dad said that as long as the mind held the memory of a person who had died they live. When you told others about that person they lived. The image of the person could always continue. So it is with my parents, my husband and Alan Garringer.
Anyone in our town and probably Indiana and the whole USA who was a struggling writer, or an accomplished published author knew Alan. He was and is the patron saint of writers, teachers, environments, thinkers of everyone who knew him.
He died this past week of cancer. He suffered. It was unfair. To him. To us.
He would not lie for us to even think in those terms. In his mind he is beginning a wonderful new adventure. That's what he told his wife just before she died. Alan and his wife Kathleen loved adventures.
That is what I shall remember all the adventures he told us about. The excitement of his tales and stories. His search for truth, understanding. His attempts to save the world from its own destruction by all of his attempts at recycling, solar heating inventions, raising chickens in a solar chicken house he made himself. His remodeling. His joy of life and of people. His love of children and of teaching children and adults.
He taught adult education for years. He wrote the Adult Education TV Program. He inspired me to go work, (the last thing I wanted with a 5 year old,)and teach people to read. He did this thousands of others. He was a teacher of children, a principle, a problem solver, a math genius, an inventor, a scientist. A Renascence man. He was there when anyone needed him. And a story teller supreme.
That is my memory. After a writer's conference, we would all sit around and talk. Then the stories would begin. At first I would listen in rapt attention to the story. It would end up a pun. I would scream, laugh, bang my fist, "Alan." He would laugh.
Then I got smarter. When he began his story, I would say, "no, Alan, I will not listen, because it is one of those pun stories. "No," he'd say, "it isn't" Still I would hum, stare at the window, write in my journal. I would tell myself not to listen.
Alas, as you know if you have ever been in the presence of a Master Story Teller, there is no defense. Soon I would be not only listening, but begging him on, "then what did he say, Alan." Or "What happened then, Alan." Sometimes I would become so overwhelmed my head would be laying on the table resting on my doubled up fist, eyes big and wide. Then would the last line. The pun line. I would give him a dirty look and say, "never again, Alan." But I did listen, time and time again.
Now because of my dyslexia, I could never, ever, remember the darn pun. I'd have to call people right in the middle of me trying to tell it. And I can only vaguely remember one, about Roy Rogers and The Chattanooga Shoe Shine boy. Which several people came up after the memorial service and told me the pun line. I still can not remember.
I shall always remember Alan. His smile, his hugs when someone was in pain, his laughter, the twinkle in his eye, his strange writing projects and research projects he gave me and others. I shall remember after my husband died and Alan would come out of nowhere, across a room and give me hug and ask, "are you doing all right?" He looked after everyone he knew and tried to find people he didn't know to help.
There is no death, just an absence of physical being. I truly believe that. We go on in spirit, however you view that spirit. The image, the good, the love a person left behind is always in our hearts. The way they lived their life gives us hope. I only know if if everyone lived their life as Alan Garringer did, we would truly have heaven on earth. There would be peace, love and understanding for the whole world. Of course, there would always be the that wonderful sense of humor, those stories and puns to keep us pure and honest. With love and honor to the most wonderful friend we all had.
My dad said that as long as the mind held the memory of a person who had died they live. When you told others about that person they lived. The image of the person could always continue. So it is with my parents, my husband and Alan Garringer.
Anyone in our town and probably Indiana and the whole USA who was a struggling writer, or an accomplished published author knew Alan. He was and is the patron saint of writers, teachers, environments, thinkers of everyone who knew him.
He died this past week of cancer. He suffered. It was unfair. To him. To us.
He would not lie for us to even think in those terms. In his mind he is beginning a wonderful new adventure. That's what he told his wife just before she died. Alan and his wife Kathleen loved adventures.
That is what I shall remember all the adventures he told us about. The excitement of his tales and stories. His search for truth, understanding. His attempts to save the world from its own destruction by all of his attempts at recycling, solar heating inventions, raising chickens in a solar chicken house he made himself. His remodeling. His joy of life and of people. His love of children and of teaching children and adults.
He taught adult education for years. He wrote the Adult Education TV Program. He inspired me to go work, (the last thing I wanted with a 5 year old,)and teach people to read. He did this thousands of others. He was a teacher of children, a principle, a problem solver, a math genius, an inventor, a scientist. A Renascence man. He was there when anyone needed him. And a story teller supreme.
That is my memory. After a writer's conference, we would all sit around and talk. Then the stories would begin. At first I would listen in rapt attention to the story. It would end up a pun. I would scream, laugh, bang my fist, "Alan." He would laugh.
Then I got smarter. When he began his story, I would say, "no, Alan, I will not listen, because it is one of those pun stories. "No," he'd say, "it isn't" Still I would hum, stare at the window, write in my journal. I would tell myself not to listen.
Alas, as you know if you have ever been in the presence of a Master Story Teller, there is no defense. Soon I would be not only listening, but begging him on, "then what did he say, Alan." Or "What happened then, Alan." Sometimes I would become so overwhelmed my head would be laying on the table resting on my doubled up fist, eyes big and wide. Then would the last line. The pun line. I would give him a dirty look and say, "never again, Alan." But I did listen, time and time again.
Now because of my dyslexia, I could never, ever, remember the darn pun. I'd have to call people right in the middle of me trying to tell it. And I can only vaguely remember one, about Roy Rogers and The Chattanooga Shoe Shine boy. Which several people came up after the memorial service and told me the pun line. I still can not remember.
I shall always remember Alan. His smile, his hugs when someone was in pain, his laughter, the twinkle in his eye, his strange writing projects and research projects he gave me and others. I shall remember after my husband died and Alan would come out of nowhere, across a room and give me hug and ask, "are you doing all right?" He looked after everyone he knew and tried to find people he didn't know to help.
There is no death, just an absence of physical being. I truly believe that. We go on in spirit, however you view that spirit. The image, the good, the love a person left behind is always in our hearts. The way they lived their life gives us hope. I only know if if everyone lived their life as Alan Garringer did, we would truly have heaven on earth. There would be peace, love and understanding for the whole world. Of course, there would always be the that wonderful sense of humor, those stories and puns to keep us pure and honest. With love and honor to the most wonderful friend we all had.
Labels: forever., Life after death
posted by Sherita Saffer Campbell at 7:52 AM
1 Comments:
A fitting tribute to a wonderful man. He was one of the most kind and good men that I've ever known. And I'm sure that he would come up with a pun to end this with! :) He also loved to change things up once in a while by telling a serious story without a pun--and then act surprised when we kept waiting for one! He enriched the life of everyone he met. Thank you for sharing this.
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