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- What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind…Ralph Waldo Emerson
Inna Gadda Da Vida – BAND PRACTICE ! In Pete’s basement – those guys blasted this song and Brent Baber did more than justice to the drum solo (it just started as I typed these words ! How cool is that !). Pete talked about the “walking Bass Line” in this song. So I decided to make it the sites’ theme song since the guys did it so well. Jack, John, Brent, with your Grass Roots amps, under your name “Thanatopsis”, outward success or no, you guys ROCKED THE METAL !
Had quite a shock recently in an email that the person I had been closest to in my youth and I had thought I had lost contact with, had actually, in fact died in October 2008 . Having moved from my hometown over thirty years ago, it was hard to keep track and up to date on anyone; but at least I feel comforted in the fact that I had kept up correspondence with him over the years.
When someone means so much to you that they influence and shape your life and your whole being, you feel like everything you are and that you thought you stood for has shifted and dissolved when they are no longer on this earth.
I wish I was well enough to get out and visit, and drive all over to see folks; family, friends, but don’t know how well I would do with the stress of traveling when just the stress of everyday in-the-house living brings on so many bad symptoms. I need to be grateful for my online status. So I can stay in touch when I feel well enough to get at the computer.
He’s in my memories and in my heart; I’ll always carry that with me till we meet again. I dedicate this blog to Pete. And as he always told me, Smile, Kat. I want to see you smile. I’m trying. I will try and try till I get it right. He told me once that a dream is a wish the heart makes. I dream of him often, always have. Alive, well, laughing, as a boy of 15 which is how old he was when we met.
I have a wonderful family I love very very much. It’s beautiful here in Michigan. I may still be crying, but there is hope in the tears. Now you all go out and find something worth looking at today and see the glory in the world.
PETER JOSEF PAUL BERNAT
13. APRIL 1953 – 16. October 2008
PETER JOSEF BERNAT “GRAMPY” HOBART, INDIANA
Peter Josef Bernat, age 55, a Hobart resident for 30 years, passed away at home on October 16, 2008. Pete was born April 13, 1953 in Germany, the son of Doris and Joseph Bernat. He loved performing music and playing the bass guitar. He could spend hours in his flower and vegetable garden. Pete transformed his home with many home improvements over a course of 30 years. He was a veteran of the U.S. Air Force, a graduate of Lew Wallace High School Class of 1971 and Purdue University Calumet Campus. He was employed as an electrician at U.S. Steel Gary Works. Pete was preceded in death by his father, Joseph Bernat. He was married on March 22, 1973 to Marcella (nee White) Bernat, who survives. Also surviving are his children: Michelle (Dennis) Taylor, Yvonne Bernat and Monica Bernat; four grandchildren: Allison and Denny Taylor, and Meah and Colton Charo; mother, Doris Bernat of Hobart; one brother, David (Pamela) Bernat of Valparaiso; one sister, Suzanne Bernat of Hobart; and many loving nieces and nephews. Friends and relatives may visit with the family at the Burns Funeral Home, 701 E. 7th Street, Hobart, IN on Tuesday, October 21, 2008 from 2:00-7:00 p.m. A memorial service will follow at 7:00 p.m. http://www.burnsfuneral.com Published in The Times from October 19 to October 20, 2008
Michelle, Monica, Yvonne, you don’t know me, but I loved your dad like life itself. Things just didn’t work out though. I am comforted by the fact that he had you girls and your mom, who gave him your hearts and soul. God bless all of you. God Bless my Godmother; Doris Wohlman Bernat, my condolences in the loss of your husband, Joe. Time tragically and cruelly marches on. I truly loved your son and he will always be in my heart. Marcella, thank you for caring so deeply and being such a comfort.
Our song: Precious and Few by Climax
THANATOPSIS (our Poem)
by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;–
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around–
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air–
Comes a still voice–Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish’d thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world–with kings,
The powerful of the earth–the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb’d and ancient as the sun,–the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour’d round all,
Old Ocean’s grey and melancholy waste,–
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.–Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings–yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep–the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man–
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustain’d and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. [/I][/B]
“Thanatopsis” is reprinted from Yale Book of American Verse. Ed.
Thomas R. Lounsbury. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1912.
My beloved speaks and says to me:
“Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
and come away,
for behold, the winter is past;
the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
is heard in our land.
The fig tree ripens its figs,
and the vines are in blossom;
they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
and come away.”
Cantico Dei Cantici,
The Song of Songs
This picture of the dark haired angel reaching down and the auburn haired lady reaching up really disturbs me……so close to the feeling that wow, what an answer that would be. but the pain and extra energy which would be needed by my family to go through something like me joining whatever is everafter this soon, don’t need that badly to make them go through all that mess. Patience please from all of you who know me, a bit of love and support would be great. Even though he never left my hidden place in my heart and mind, I concentrated my efforts or at least tried to, on my family. Could have done better, but then how many of us can truly say we had no room for improvement in how we treat and help out others????? Blessings to all, throughout life.