For Rachel

I have spent this last week reflecting on the celebration of Clay’s life that so many of us shared in Lander last week, and so many others from far away. I send my heartfelt thanks to all who helped plan, coordinate, and execute such a beautiful tribute.

So many people told great stories about Clay. Some knew him as a boy, or as a young man deciding on a whim to cast off his business suit and go teach scuba diving. Others knew him on the Ice, or in Glacier. In retrospect, I am regretting that I didn't speak at the celebration, too. For whatever reason, the things that I would have said came to me about 36 hours too late to be useful.

The truth is lots and lots of people knew Clay better than I did, and part of my sadness comes from the fact that I always thought there would be time. So if it’s true that he would have wanted us each to get something out of the experience of losing him, for me it's the realization that we should never assume there will be time.

I knew Clay because he loved my sister, and so my story would have been about Rachel. When we were kids, she and I used to go into toy stores and set all the stuffed animals upright on the shelves so they could all see. (OK, I admit that we still do that.) It might seem weird to say that stuffed animals could be profound symbols of a relationship, but for me that is in fact what they are. They represent whimsy, playfulness, simplicity, gentleness, and the all-important “sense of silly” that have always made my sister-hood with Rachel a safe harbor in a storm for me. She has the gift of easy laughter. In our family pictures she was always the one sticking her tongue out and being goofy. Clay touched that part of her, and understood it, and brought it out. And she, in turn, brought it out in him. I think of him now, posing for pictures with Orson, the traveling bear. I think of how he gave Rachel her perfect nickname- Lamb. And I remember how he took care of her with such gentleness when her beloved dog Craig died.

Finally, I think I would have shared this poem, which makes me think of Clay because Rachel has told me that one of his gifts to her was to help her be braver. She says he gave her greater courage to embrace the world, and all that it offers to our imaginations.

We all miss you, Clay. We all wish we had more time.

Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.