Despite a raging ear, throat and nose infection that had almost robbed him of his voice, my grandson Michael, 17, stepped up to the microphone at the funeral service and paid tribute to Noah:
“While we may weep today, we will be reunited someday, that we can better ourselves as people for Noah. There is no greater way to honor him then by celebrating his life and living for him. I love you brother, I cannot wait until I can see you once more but until then I will remain strong and live as well as I can for you. We lost our son, brother,grandson, nephew, and friend…. but we gained a guardian angel”.
Then he read a poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye:
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.