A poem for a friend

A friend of mine died of cancer, yesterday. He said he thought God must want him up there in heaven as he had cancer, not once but twice.
This is a poem for you, my friend;

In the arms now of the angels,
you’re free from earthly strife,
And now you look upon us,
And you look upon your wife.

You’re free from pain and hurt now,
And all such worldly cares,
You’re free to know the truth of life,
A love that’s freely shared.

In the arms now of the angels,
And you look upon your son,
A work of all your love here,
A work that’s just begun.

You said that God must want you,
To take you to his arms,
To take you from the ones you love,
And free you from all harm.

Our prayer to him who saves us,
And took you from our care,
Please look after Mark in heaven,
Let him watch us from up there.

He doesn’t want our sadness,
To hide us from the light,
He wants to see us happy,
To live with all our might.

In the arms now of an angel,
He sees sadness on our face,
But do not worry, he would say,
Now I know that Godly grace.

Remember me, the man I was,
Loving husband and great Dad,
Isn’t that one good reason,
To not be down or sad.

Don’t cry for me-now I am here,
Watching down on you my love,
Just live your lives, as best you can,
A hand to fit the glove.

Don’t fret too much, nor mourn too long,
But remember me with joy,
Play one more song for me to hear,
My wife, my love , my boy.

footnote;

No usual post today, but a poem and a song and a painting.

The painting is called ‘The Luncheon’ by Claude Monet. Mark loved food and Kim, his wife, is a marvellous cook. When I visited in December, he told me about a wonderful meal they had eaten at a local restaurant. The food was simply described as ‘pigeon’ or ‘lamb’ or ‘venison,’ and the accompanying wine received a full appraisal of its bouquet and qualities. It was the best meal ever, he said. Only now, it was a memory. Mark was unable to eat or drink almost anything, without being sick again. A kind of torture. But he closed his eyes and remembered the wonderful smell and taste of that food.

I told him, that on my journey to see him that day, I’d listened to to a radio programme about Claude Monet, the famous painter who everyone knows:

Claude Monet, ‘the father of Impressionism’, painted and worked on something he called ‘La Grande decoration’. It was his life’s work – a work that was never intended to reach its end.
But Monet struggled with his sight; a terrible affliction for a painter. Having briefly glimpsed colour in brilliant intensity following an operation, he suffered again from cataracts, and saw everything in a complete fog. At one point, and almost blind. he could only see two colours, yellow and blue- not the thirty six he saw before.
So lurid were these colours that he claimed he would rather go blind – to keep unsullied his memories of the beauty of nature. It struck me then as similar to Mark and Kim’s lovely meal, and his inability now to eat. But still, even now, he savoured the memory of it.

Of Monet’s paintings, and after his death, a critic said; “To trap the sun, to focus and diffuse its light- Quel Miracle!”
I pray for a Miracle, for Mark. The miracle of new life, a life without pain or suffering. A life of peace. Now we see but a dim reflection- Then we shall see fully and clearly.
Goodbye my friend. I’ll be thinking of you.