What will survive of us is love.
—Philip Larkin, from “An Arundel Tomb”
Even if you feel that you didn’t get enough.
Even if you feel that you didn’t get enough
from the people you thought should have.
Even if you felt about half-full all your life,
that the tank, quite honestly, was running dry.
Even as you consider the woulda coulda shoulda
times you’d reached out a hand of compassion.
Even as you wish that you’d said the words
out loud to your dear ones,
that you’d given them a chance to lob them
back at you like a swift tennis ball.
What will survive of us is love.
What they will remember are the ways
you showed it—in the I’m proud of yous,
in the late-in-life thank yous,
in all that you did to feed, clothe, support,
encourage, cheer on, assist, educate
illuminate and provide.
Love survives in the DNA of those you
created and those who they created.
You did good. You did well.
Even as you fade, as they stand over you
whispering what they couldn’t tell you,
what you always longed to hear:
We love you, we love you, we love you.
•••
In memory of my mother, Dorothy (Darlene) Haag
July 6, 1931 – Dec. 21, 2024
Güd wrtr 
Indeed, “Love survives”. You and Donna have been good and faithful daughters and team members. You have done and said everything which needed saying by your actions and your faithfulness over the years. You showed up when it counted and when it didn’t count. I never met your mother, or your sister either, but I’m sure she was proud of you both. Why wouldn’t she be? You have made good lives for yourselves and also honored your parent’s legacies.
Rest well. Know you did your best, even if you might feel it wasn’t enough. You showed love and “love has survived”. The Winter Solstice is a perfect time to change seasons in one’s life and for entering a new one. Peace, Blessings and Good Memories to you and Donna. Love~Connie
Dear Jan: I’ve watched daily for your poems as you chronicled your mom’s final days, and ache for your loss. I remember a wonderful baked ham dinner she prepared for us when I came over to your house in Granite Bay one summer day in 1973 and spent the afternoon. I’ve suffered the death of both my father and my brother, Tamron, at the still-young age each of 56, so I know the pain you feel all too well. Indeed, love survives in the memories, the things they touched and built, and the little treasures around the house that remind us of the best of times.
My favorite Ray Bradbury quote speaks to this loss:
Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.
It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.
This thought I leave with you, Donna, and your dear families.
With Love and Sympathy,
Terry Stone (OHS, Class of 1973)
Yes, we love you and send you