Mayor Frank on a Short Leave

It is with great sadness that I draft this post, for when it is posted live, it will mean that my step-father will have passed on from a painful year plus long battle with prostate, lung, and brain cancer. Having lost a would-be mother in law (fiancee's mom) in October, followed shortly thereafter by my grandfather's passing, it has been a tough holiday season, and it is time for me to step away for a bit while my family rallies and rejoices in happy memories such as the picture above from just a year ago and the knowledge that our loved ones have moved on to happier places.

I leave you in the capable hands of our beloved Mayor Sam, a rock who always had the right words to say through this behind the scenes time of need, and a few of our neighbors in the blogosphere who will be jumping in as guest posters in my absence. I look forward to my return, as the Sister City has been a needed distraction in a world filled with chaos as of late.

For those of you who have endured similar situations or those of you who might one day, I found a few words from Henry Van Dyke which have provided some solace for me that I would like to share.

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and the sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"

"Gone where?"

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"

Thank you for the indulgence.