4:55 p.m. - 03/01/03
beauty just because.
So...
Yeah. I'm surprisingly ok. Sad, somewhat, a bit upset, but mostly alright. I'm so used to death being such a horribly wrong thing, and this...isn't, necessarily. I mean, Mr. Rogers touched more of the world through one episode of television than many people do in their entire lives. He's given *so much.* And he always seems so peaceful; I can't imagine that changed as he was dying. I can't imagine him anything else but ok, but gentle and kind and filled with love, and I can't imagine that he isn't all those things now as well. What can I say? He's my hero, in a very real way. He's my neighbor, always.
I want to remember Josephine the Short-Necked Giraffe which was my absolute favorite episode. And The Land of Make-Believe, and the projects at his kitchen table, and Speedy Delivery, and Lady Elaine Fairchild, on and on and on. I've learned that there are many gifts in death, whether or not they can make up for the loss itself, and one of the gifts is all the things you work more fully to remember. I want to remember Mister Rogers as one of the people who saved my life; I want to remember him as I develop it.
I don't consider it a coincidence that he and RED have the same last name. I don't, I don't, I don't...
I wrote this a very little bit ago, with very little revising. All sentiment, no style, basically... I don't feel, for the moment, like there's anything wrong with that.
You I Like
(for Mr. Rogers)
I feel important
every time I zip a sweater up
every time I change my shoes
because of you
I feel precious
purely by the grace of my existence
feel informed, feel able to face
all feelings, including the
ever-so-perilous pain
because of you I know
I'll never go down
I'll never go down
I'll never go down the drain.
I learned that at every sunrise
the day is new
I have important experiences
to speak my way through
with you. I learned
how much I deserve to speak
I deserved to be heard, you said
and consistently, you visited-
promised to come again tomorrow
to come again next week.
you never forgot to make-believe,
to feed the fish, to speak with me
directly, like family, like a friend.
I don't believe you'll be forgotten
I don't believe death, for you,
could ever be considered the end.
you always come back.
I've learned to expect that.
I've learned to love you fearlessly
without condition or apology
and knowing me as fully, gently
as you must - you know how unaccustomed
I am to that degree of trust.
thus - I suggest you adjust to my love,
which remains, consistent as your kindness
soft as sweet refrains:
there are many ways to say I love you
there are many ways to say I care
through that love, I can sense your presence
still; I remain aware of you.
safe inside your television house,
your neighborhood. safe inside your lessons
I am good, exactly as I am.
I am special, fancy, free
a child, always owning the right
to be me.
because of you,
I feel safe no matter what I face
I feel strong no matter the difficulty
my courage must embrace
because of you, I'm still a miracle
I'm learning how to thrive.
oh, Mr. Rogers
it's such a good feeling
to know you're alive.
...for purely sentiment, the last line still nearly makes me cry. I don't usually cry at my own poems. What a beautiful man. I must remember him as I carve my own identity. I must remember him when I'm drawn to generalize about what "man" means. I must remember him.
(I say as if that would be difficult. Oh, no; it would be difficult not to.)
chord
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