lever du soleil

Slowly the spacious star of the

Universe rises high above the promontory,

Nurturing flowers and trees when

Rain is not descending from the heavens.

I awake each day to unprecedented joy.

Sounds of songs from young birds replenish the

Ethereal heights, as I undertake an unseasoned task.

Va, laisse couler mes larmes...

Please let my tears flow...


"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering."
-Ben Okri


My father-in-law just passed away last Thursday due to some complications from a pulmonary embolism. It is still surreal and the sadness has not completely set in. The hardest part of it all is that Becca and I are not in Seattle to comfort my husband. My body physically aches and I feel nauseous. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I keep going over things in my head that I know cannot be changed, but the thoughts are still there...

I should have called Bill more often. I should have sent him more pictures of Becca. I should have learned more about him as a person so that I could share his wonderful life stories with my daughter, who will never know him. We should have insisted that we come to visit...and the list goes on...

As I try to explain his death to my almost-three-year-old, I say that "Opa is now resting in heaven with Jesus." She simply replies, "We have to look for him in the clouds."

I can definitely find comfort in knowing that Dad is watching all of us from above and talking to everyone in his own special way...Boy, did he LOVE to talk! Fortunately, his only granddaughter (our daughter, Becca) inherited the "Buchanan" trait for loquaciousness, and his spirit can live on in all of us!


Va, laisse couler mes larmes –
elles font du bien, ma chérie.
Les larmes qu’on ne pleure pas,
dans notre âme retombent toutes,
et de leurs patientes gouttes
martèlent le coeur triste et las.
Sa résistance enfin s’épuise;
le coeur se creuse et s’affaiblit –
il est trop grand,
rien ne l’emplit;
et trop fragile
tout le brise.

Please, let my tears flow –
they do [me] good, my darling.
The tears we don’t shed
all fall back into our soul,
and with their patient drops
hammer on our sad and weary heart.
Its resistance finally wears out;
the heart grows hollow and weakens –
it is too big,
nothing fills it;
and, overly fragile,
anything will break it.

{ Massenet – Werther, Va, laisse couler mes larmes }


Click here to see the online Obituary Notice for W.J. Buchanan, Jr. from the Tacoma, WA newstribune.com