All Good Things Must End

 

 

One amusing detail that I failed to mention from yesterday’s visit to Dover:  There were two main gun batteries at Dover during World War Two, both named after Winston Churchill:  One was “Winnie,” and the other was “Poo.”

 

Well, this seemingly endless trip is now coming to an end.  I can scarcely remember home.  Heck, for that matter I can scarcely remember Israel or Switzerland or Austria.  They seem very, very long ago.

 

It’s Sunday morning here, and I’m sitting in an airport hotel waiting to head to the terminal.

 

I hate this part of a trip.

 

Yet it’s really time to go home.  And especially from this trip.  I enjoyed it, on very many levels, despite the seemingly dedicated efforts of two or three people back in Utah to ruin it as much as they could.  We had looked forward to it for at least a year, in somewhat different form.  But, when my brother died suddenly at the end of March, I knew that it would be a tough and nostalgic few weeks for me, since he and his wife and some of his family had been scheduled to go on the cruise around the United Kingdom with us.  (Incidentally, his brother in law, who spoke, as I did, at my brother’s funeral — a younger man, extremely outdoorsy, rugged and fit and lean — collapsed and died suddenly this past week; his funeral was on Friday in northern Idaho.  Stunning and disconcerting news.  Death and loss seems to have been the major theme for me since just before General Conference; I hope this phase will pass soon.)  But the politics in Provo, and the many ramifications of that messy and (in my judgment) wholly unnecessary episode, made things infinitely worse.

 

It’s time to go home, but I’m not looking forward to it.  I’ve discovered many new friends, and discovered the deep loyalty of some I had already known as friends, but I’ve also recognized a few previously unsuspected enemies, and that’s been profoundly disheartening.

 

Such, I guess, is life.  Ever since the Fall.

 

Near Heathrow Airport, England.

 

 

 

 

 

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  • Blair Isom

    Dan,
    My deepest condolences go out to you. I truly don’t know what I would do if it were not for the knowledge that we have the opportunity to be reunited with our loved ones. I too lost my 2nd brother in April. Though his loss was very hard for me, it was a great deal of joy for him. for I truly hope that he will have the opportunity to be reunited with is son who died at 15 and his 1st wife who died in 2002, and also hopefully be rid of the nightmares of Viet Nam. Though his loss paled to when my 1st wife died. It will pass, but as they say one doesn’t necessarily stop grieving, just grieve less often.
    I’m not privy to your politics in Provo, (if they are Univ connected) but I can only assume. And I am sorry those who have been close to you have violated your trust.
    Though our relationship has been sporadic at best over the past 40 years I want you to know that I hold your acquantence in the highest regard. I don’t know if you got the note I left on your office door some months ago. I am not too high on open personal correspondance. I hope that this note will find you in better spirits. I look forward to the possibility of meeting with you again in the not to distant future. side note; One of the greatest high points lately for me is having the opportunity to work as an temple ordinance worker.

    Take care and be safe,
    Blair

  • JL

    I’ve decided death and loss are part of the landscape now that I am way past over the hill and clearly on the decline–I would have modified that with “long” except for the fact that I attended the funeral for a man born in my same year on Saturday. He was fit not just physically but spiritually as well; one speaker referred to his passing as a “mission transfer”–in any case, he returned from a walk and died in the kitchen, quick and without ceremony.


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