Large Fierce Mammal

Here’s Tae Us! Wha’s Like Us? Damn few, and they’re a’ deid!

On Day 7 of last year’s Dark Sentiments, I published an article titled Grief that attracted a lot of spirited, heartfelt, and much appreciated commentary. I invite you today to read or reread that in support of our Friend Peter Thompson who is observing a bittersweet anniversary today – that of the death of his Father, John Hazen Thompson,  on 6 July 2000.

It’s traditional for us to gather at Peter’s house on this date to toast his Father. Today was no different, and as usual this was not an unhappy gathering. For clarity, and in my vanity, dear reader, let me pause to quote myself:

As I’ve gone through the grieving process myself, and watched others do the same, it has become clear to me that, in the end, the power and joy of a life well lived is not diminished by the final footnote that it came to an end. That grief is a path leading to a place where, without trivializing our loss or assuming a pretense that the one departed isn’t missed, we can once again think and speak of them fondly and often, without spontaneously melting into a weeping puddle of goo. That their lives will have meaning as long as those of us who remember still draw breath.

Peter is of Scottish descent, and never misses a chance to celebrate his roots. In the spirit of that, what follows is a wee poem written for the occasion; for a Father, and the Son who remembers him:

A Wee Scottish Toast

By LFM

I’ll nae drink t’ a mon
Jus’ because he be deid.
I’ll drink to his Life
An’ his doin’s insteid!

So if this we be doin’,
I’m in t’ th’ hilt!
Sword, dirk, an’everythin’
Under m’ kilt!

So let’s toss off a dram
And let’s blame th’ mon thus –
Ye bloody great lump,
It’s his fault yer wi’ us!