Missing Yogi

On the second anniversary of my dear friend Yogi's death, I wanted to post the words I read at his funeral. Yogi, my rock, my friend, you are missed everyday here. We all love you.





The Rock for Yogi




You stood still, unwavering, in every storm.
Unlured by even the whippoorwill,
merely noting their melody.
As you always knew mine, unsung.

Our friendship evolved as we did,
growing stronger over time. Time changes
us all, but you remained firm - steadfast, my rock.
The rock that held us all together
starting circles of friendship we would
otherwise never have known.

Your 4th of July parties were legendary.
Sunday dinners, Thanksgivings, forever changed.
You taught me so much about cooking.
“Hey Chil, are you talking or stirring the gravy.”

While I spun dreams, you saw it all clear.
It wasn’t me, you’d state with earthly knowing,
You believed in me, ‘cause we were friends.
That’s it, no absurd declarations.

When I was down, you lifted me onto your lap,
to count blessings and draw long lists of love,
always ending with, “And Yogi loves you to.”
And like a small child, my anger and sorrow would lift,
as I sat on the rock and watched the endless fields sway,
simply through your eyes.

When others were frustrated, you laughed.
When others were serious, you saw through their fake smiles.
When I acted like an impetuous child, you’d try to be stern
with a hidden grin shining in your eyes or
rippling beneath nonjudgmental words.

The greatest lesson you taught me was that things
aren’t as important, as they seem.
“Always make hay when the sun shines.”

No big day passed without your call, no matter what.
“Hey babe, where’ve you been.”
Yog, my rock, friends ‘till the end.
I wanted to call you when you died.

No regrets, as you move on, I love you and you love me, we
always said it, we always meant it. That’s it, as true as mad bulls
are crazy, and once a year each cow has her baby.

Love and friendship are the rock that you’ve left me to stand on
in any hurricane. If it all gets to much, if I stop believing in me,
I will hear your voice in my head, you’ll make me smile
from where you are, and you’ll laugh with me.
Now what do I do when the revolution comes?

No ill winds took away the strength of your clarity, smiling
regretfully, telling me what you knew and I denied.
But my friend, this is not the end,
I close my eyes, and we fish off a rock, truck bed or dock.
I close my eyes, and ride comfy in the tractor seat big enough for two.
I close my eyes, and hear you strumming the guitar.

Do you remember when I lost my shoe, or we took that
crazy ride in the snow. This is not the end,
are you riding now? I close my eyes, I’m with you,
a piece of your heart lives on in mine.
I close my eyes and hear your sage advice.
This is not the end, because rocks, like legends, don’t end…
we are now just d i m e n s i o n a l l y challenged.
This is not the end.