From that first day he carried her to school—from that day onwards he had

Gil is a good friend of mine, marriage celebrant too. He was a mentor to me when I was a teenager trying to figure out life. I hope you too enjoy this short true story received just today. Best all, Z ----- Forwarded message from Gil May <gilmay97@gmail.com> ----- From: Gil May <gilmay97@gmail.com> To: William H Richards <williamh.richards3@gmail.com> Bcc: zenaan@gmail.com Date: Tue, 25 Apr 2017 20:32:01 +1000 Subject: The Funeral--A Nice Story The Funeral--A Nice Story A young boy from a very poor family who lived out in the bush west of Grafton had to walk eight miles (13 kms) to school and back each day, on his second week in first grade as he walked past a house he saw a pretty girl wearing a blue dress waving to him as he walked past—so he waved back as all country folk do. On his way home she was there again and waved to him, so he opened their front gate and walked along the long driveway to the house to meet this pretty girl. When he got there she was sitting in a chair on the veranda on her own, so he introduced himself to her and asked where her parents were, she replied they were milking the cows. He asked if she like helping to milk the cows? She said she would love to but she could not walk as she had, had poliomyelitis and could not walk; that was why she could not go to school. He was a big lad, so he picked her up and put her on his back and said lets go down to the cow shed to meet your Mum and Dad. They were stunned to see this big lad piggybacking their daughter and burst out laughing, after talking for a time he asked if he could take her to school with him on the morning, he said he would carry her all the way and look after her. And so every day he picked up this pretty girl and carried her to school and home, during the second year as he was walking home carrying his friend, a car pulled over and the driver asked them for directions—the driver asked about the young girl he was carrying, so he told his story. A few days later the man came back to see them, he was a businessman and had told his friends the story of the boy and his friend that he had been carrying to school for nearly two years. In the back of his vehicle he had a new bicycle with a seat on the back that everyone had chipped in to buy for them, so from then on he picked her up and she sat on the back of his bicycle to and from school. Many years into the future from that date I received a phone call from a lady who told me the Undertaker had given her my phone number and asked if I would read the funeral for her mother who had passed away, she explained her parents were very practical people who spent all their life in the bush and did not want a religious funeral for her Mum—that Dad was a tough old bloke who never drank nor smoked—his entire life was devoted to his family—and his old dog. As always I spoke at length with the caller and talked about her Mum, her Dad and her family and arranged to meet her, her sisters and her Dad next day at Dad’s place a Chinderah. Her father was a huge big man, softly spoken with a depth of character rarely seen—He was a typical old ‘Bushie’ well educated in real life and practicality, a gentleman with a quality and sincerity that stirred deeply. After introductions to his three daughters, over a cuppa we talked about Mother’s passing and the life she had lived—I quietly listened as Dad told me the story of meeting his wife—she was the ‘pretty-girl’ who could not walk and he was the young man who had carried her to school each day until given the bicycle. promised to always look after her. As we sat around the Kitchen table talking, he reached out with a huge hand and placed it on mine, looked into my eyes and said “Gil, this is the first day that we have ever been apart since we married”, his eyes were so soft and meaningful, his giant hand softly holding mine as he told me of their life together and the three lovely daughters they had raised. I took my notes as memory points, for I always remember and clearly hear their spoken words as I sit quietly to write the funeral service. Two days later at the Chapel, it was full and many were standing outside; on arriving I always greet the family and inquire if there are any last minute items to include in the service; Their Dad—a very big strong muscular man of impressive presence and statue, walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder, looked into my eyes—and I looked into his—he knew I would present the final farewell to his wonderful ‘Mate’ with utmost dignity and sincerity.

From the raised lectern I look towards the people who had gathered to celebrate the memories of this wonderful lady—I could read their thoughts and feelings, then I looked across at the three daughters sitting either side of Dad, with tears in their eyes, I looked at Dad and he looked into my eyes again, with a slight smile then a tear slowly ran down his sun-browned cheek as I read these words:-

*You Will Always *B*e There* The rays of light filtered through the sentinels of trees this morning, I sat in the garden and contemplated. The serenity and beauty of my feelings and surroundings, completely captivated me . . . . . . . . I thought of you. I discovered you tucked away in the shadows of the trees. Then rediscovered you on the smiles of the flowers, as the sun penetrated the petals…………. In the rhythm of the leaves falling in the garden . . . . . . . . In the freedom of the birds as they fly searching as you do. I’m very happy that I found you. And you will never leave me, For I will always see you in the beauty of life that surrounds me….. At the end of the service I conclude “As we now leave this place of memories, let us gather together to share a few moments of fellowship, before we go our respective ways.” Thus the family and friends can get together to renew old friendships and talk of times past. I am always the last to leave the Chapel, and in doing so I always shake hands with the family before leaving—as I walked outside the family were all gathered comforting each other—Dad towering above the others—a big man with a big heart, he walked over to me and put his arms around me crying, and said “Thanks mate, that was beautiful—you really understood”. I stood there and shook his hand and put my arm around his and we just stood together—two old blokes who understood. I accepted his daughter’s invitation to “Come around to the house for refreshments”. They came over and thanked me for all the help I had given with documentation requirements and for my words at the Chapel, they said "We had never seen Dad cry before". Cheers Gil ----- End forwarded message -----