It's All In the Way You Look At Things....

Mr. Thompson died.

He died as he had lived.

He stayed the course and was true.

Everyday he instructed his twenty five year old son to shave his face, to brush his hair and make him presentable so that he may face the day.

Everyday, his son took this task as an honour and a great privilege.

Everyday, though bedridden in a hospital, was a brand new day with infinite possibility.

Everyday, Mr. Thompson lived. Everyday Mr. Thompson savoured his moments left on this planet.

Everyday there would be a line up of people coming to say 'Good-Bye' to Mr. Thompson.

Everyday, his room would be filled with laughter, and wonderful, reflective, warm conversation, as cancer ate away at Mr.Thompson's body,But cancer could not and would not take away his giving spirit.

Mr. Thompson's room was filled with countless cards, countless photographs and countless moments of people retracing their paths with him, retracing moments of true friendship with a learned friend and colleague.

Mr. Thompson made cancer a dignified experience.

Mr. Thompson held court. And taught people how to live, through his passage. He made cancer easy. He never mentioned cancer, he wanted to hear your news, and share a moment, cancer was not part of it. He was lying in a hospital bed, unable to move from the neck down, but this, 'affliction', this 'insideous disease'(as Mr. Thompson put it) would not define him.

I was due to see Mr. Thompson on the day he passed.

I had printed out my blog, as a letter and was going to go up to see my dear teacher.

It was not meant to be. Mr. Thompson died before I could read my story to him. But I was not in want.

I had already told him how much he meant to me so many times. I already poured out my gratitude before the illness. And through the illness, I had the chance to give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him I would miss him and our lunches. I had the chance to meet his wonderful wife and his great grown children. I was able to share my moments with Mr. Thompson, with them. And they could see another side to their father. As one's life is never just one defining moment, it comes in so many arrays and pieces that make up a person. I was glad I could bring one of the many facets of Mr. Thompson's life to them while he was still alive.

Cancer gave me that, as much as it took away my friend.

I was at peace, as I knew that Mr. Thomspon however brave, would not want this illness to linger and for this fuss to be longer that it needed to be.

And so Mr. Thompson had his 'wish'. And so, I was not at a loss, with his passing and leaving us behind.

But I knew his friend was. His friend of thirty years could not think of his years ahead without his trusted friend. He was in total despair. The past was of no comfort.

I forwarded on my letter to Mr. Thompson, to his grieving friend. I forwarded on my letter, to my ole gym teacher. I forwarded it on so that he may realize that we were unified in grief. And somehow, I felt the letter would bring comfort to him. If for a moment it may bring his dear Leon back to him.

And my dear, sweet, primary school, gym teacher could not open it. It could or would not bring his beloved Leon back and he was emmerced in his grief. And at the visitation, in the funeral home, he could barely look my way without tears. His heart was not allowing him to let go.

And where I was able to talk with Mr. Thompson's family and friends, Jim, my ole school teacher could not.

And in the wee hours of the morning before the funeral, I went to my computer to get the final details of Mr.Thompson's arrangements, and as I logged on, I received a phone call from my gym teacher, Jim. Jim had been waiting until I 'logged on and was awake before he called.

Jim called and cried.

' Pendullum, Pendullum, I, I,' he sobbed, ' I read your e-mail yesterday. I read your e-mail. And I, I, oh, gosh, I did something...'

'What did you do?'

'Oh, Pend, you have to understand, we have had weeks of this... Weeks to prepare for this funeral, and we have been trying and trying....'

'Trying to do what?'

'We've been trying to write Leon's eulogy.'

'Oh...'

'And we finished it early last night...'

'Well, that's good...'

'No, no it's not...'

'Okay, it's not...'

'I read your e-mail late last night... And there, there was Leon...There, he was... And well, I forwarded on your e-mail as the official eulogy to be read by Barry... I am so sorry... I should have asked you first... And now I am calling you... Could we???'

'I would be honoured... Truly, I would be honoured...'

And with that, my letter was read to Mr. Thomspon as he lay in his casket.

My letter was read to a congregation of three hundred plus mourners. Three hundred people who were blessed to have known and had shared part of their journey through life with Leon Thompson.

And as it was read, there was a great deal of laughter, there was a great deal of light. For this funeral was indeed a celebration. A celebration of how very lucky all of us were to have met such a wonderful man. We were so lucky he was part of our lives for a brief, glimmering moment.

And near the end of the service, Leon's ninety year old, spritely, mother-in-law, leapt to the pulpet...

She surged forward with an bouyant energy, an energy which could not be contained, an energy which catapulted her petite, wirey frame, to the front of the church, it seemed to take her by surprise as she stabilized herself by clutching large black patent leather handbag and cane...

She reached the front and belts, ' I am compelled to speak! I need to speak, I need to have MY say!!!!'

And with the confidence of a matriarch she marches in front of all the flowers and announciates Leon's name.
LEEEEEONNN THOMPSON! LEEEEEONNN THOMPSON!!!!

She turns to the casket and lovingly touches the box, she pauses and places her handbag and cane beside the coffin, she turns to face all of us and then opens her arms wide, raises them above her head to the heavens and exhalts to the entire congregational body.

'My son-in-law, my son-in-law, Leeeeoooon, was all about L.O.V.E....He was LOVE...
To know Leon, is/was to love Leon...
One of the kindest souls, I have ever had the pleasure to have met!
I have always loved Leon. And now, Leon is watching over us, and for once, for once we are without our master of ceremonies... But his voice is within all of us...We are all truly blessed to have been loved by Leon Thompson.'

And with those words, it caused me to smile. It caused me to laugh. It caused me to feel so very, very happy as he would have been so embarrassed with such an announcement... But silently proud. It 's all how you can look at these things...

And at the end of the funeral, Mr. Thompson had planned a huge sit down luncheon where we could all sit and mingle and remmenice. We laughed, we joked, we even marvelled that Leon ensured that there were endless cakes, as he so had a sweet tooth. And we felt as though he was watching from above, happy with how we were all getting along and bringing him into the room with our stories.

And when I came home, there was my beautiful family waiting for me...

They knew of all that I have had with Mr. Thompson and all that I seemed to have lost.

But life has a great deal to hold.

And through the knowing of Mr. Thompson and of his love, I know that all is possible.I have a certain set of roots thanks to him. I have a sense of telling a story all the way though. I have a sense of his laugh and twinkle of faith in my heart.

It is all in how you look at these things...

And through all these moments where my heart has been tested, there has always been something life reaffirming. There has always been gratitude in my heart for all that I have experienced with some truly remarkable people.

They may have gone, and there certainly is a true feeling of dysphoria in my heart, but only because I know of the lives they have lived and have shared with me. And I am certain, I am who I am today because their stories, their beings,their life experience are within my heart even though their bodies have left this fair planet. I am a far better person for knowing and loving them while they were here, I suppose it is all how you look at it.

Dear Mr. Thompson,

I have just returned from seeing you for what I think will be the last time, although your memories and gifts of friendship will fill my heart forever.

It was hard to enter the room.

It was even harder to leave.

The drive home with your broken-hearted friend; a fog.

It was hard to remind your friend, of thirty years, to stay focussed on the fact that you are still here: for a brief glimmering moment, and to take the finite time, to retrace some glorious memories spent, before you silently leave.

My heart is sad for what will be lost.

And while I contemplate what will be lost, I want to tell you what I have through you.

I was so fortunate to have you as my grade five teacher. I think of you in your powder blue suits, your gold glasses,your marvellous Gyanese accent and the sound of your melodic laughter. I think of eyes with compassion and a strong self assured person who could command thirty, crazy, high-strung kids, with the greatest of ease.

Grade five was a blessing. Your class was a reflection of you. I loved how you would start our day with a current events story. Everyday, you would pull down the map point to the country in question and talk, lecture about the events of the day it was all so fluid, so spontanious, so rich. You knew so much. You never talked down, or looked down, you always opened up horizons and borders, enlightened us about countries and traditions abroad. We would sit on the carpet and marvel at how what would appear to be a 'simple news' story brought in by a student, could and would be so much grander in its ramifications on the world's stage.

I loved how you found humour in your disciplining the 'rabble rousers'. I loved how you had a rubber billyclub that you nick named 'The Persuader'. I loved that you would pull out from under your desk, and with a walk of a king, you would hit the bully club in the palm of your hand for dramatic effect, and while it squeaked you would walk over to the rabble rouser and stand over the offending body. You never hit anyone, but that Persuader always had kids in fits of laughter when the Persuader had to be called upon.

I remember on the day you became a legend, when you saw John Betley get ready to send a spit ball over to Ricky Collins, the Persuader was pulled out, we all marvelled at how you 'knew' what was about to happen even though you had never looked up from your desk and Ricky Collins swallowed the spitball rather than admit that he was indeed a rabble rouser.

A great deal was learned in your class, far beyond the three R's. Your classes were great lecture halls, you encouraged minds to explore, you encouraged respect for others, you taught that we all had social responsibility to each other and the community.

I loved it when you had 'yard duty'. Ingrid, Maria and I, would love these times as we would hang out with you in the school yard, follow you around and hear your opinions on our concerns and fears.

I loved the fact that you gave us gangly gals; us oddballs; the monniker of 'Leon's Angels' and through this monniker we felt so special, so important, and so loved.

I adored how you would sing 'Maria' from Westside Story, to Maria. Whenever I hear that song, I am instantly brought back to the ole schoolyard and your beautiful voice and how it was sung with a smile of the heart. A time of true happiness with a fun, compassionate, caring, teacher.

Ever so often when I walk through the my old school grounds I can envision you standing in your beige parka holding court.

I loved how you stood up for what was 'right and just'. You always were a believer in education. No child was ever left behind. No child was lost in the masses. I can marvel at the fact some thirty year later, during our lunches, you can tell me every single one of your students strong suits. You could even tell me the profession of some of your students through intuition, you were never wrong. I was always so surprised at how we all mattered.


After your Leon's Angels moved on to post secondary education, you were promoted, and then promoted again, and again, to where you were one of the big cheese's of education. You were always a humble person. You were always true to your profession and calling. You never lost sight of the task at hand and that was the education of children. And even when you retired you still helped with literacy, how you still volunteered your time to teach children so that they may reach their true potential. How lucky and fortunate those children were to have you by their side.

You were a great man who gave many a child wings so that they may go forward and add to the world. Everyone has something to give, sometimes a child may need a bit more time to see it. And you always made the time through gentle persuasion, to open a child's heart up when they were discouraged and to bring them back to the books to enlighten their souls.

You were a favourite by many, as you did see light in all of us no matter how foggy it may have seen to us at the time..

I was so blessed for that fact that we reconnected five years ago. I have loved our lunches together as adults. I have adored the time with you and Wayne and Bill. Who would have thought that I would have the honour of being a friend to my grade five and six teacher, as well as my gym teacher? It strangely felt like family. It always felt like I was meeting with my 'oddball uncles'. I loved how you would meet me around Scooter's schedule. Always in my neck of the woods, I loved how all of you had a vested interest in my daughter and of my stories of our beleaguered school system. I loved how you 'knew' Scooter through me. And how when I told you of the story of Scooter's race, you laughed, gave that all knowing look you could give, and reassured me that 'Scooter is just like her mom as a kid.'

I loved the friendship. I cherished it. And I loved the wee notes you would send of encouragement, they were always filled with great wisdom and insight. You were always so supportive to me in all my endeavours.

And now, Mr. Thompson, I am so sorry you are leaving us.

I am so sorry for all that the world will lose in your passing. A true hero. A true educator, who gave wings and futures to so, so many.

I am so sorry that we will not have another lunch together.

I am so very happy, blessed and honoured that you were my friend and my teacher.

You were one of a kind.

And you have left your mark with so many and for that I should feel blessed, and I truly do.

But at present, I find it hard to get beyond the loss of you as I leave you behind in the hospital.

So with all due respect Mr. Thompson,( I could never call you Leon, as much as you berated me to) in all due respect Mr. Thompson. I shall miss you.

But for whatever it means, you gave me wings, Mr. Thompson.

You made me part of who I am today.

You taught me a great deal when I was a kid, you continued to teach and support me as an adult.

I thank you, thank you, the earth has lost a true angel, Mr. Thompson.

And God's Speed, dear friend.

The heavens certainly will welcome you with open arms, as you certainly helped a great many spirits, soar.