Memorial Poem

Erv did his best to preserve normalcy in the face of encroaching death, feeling the solid here-and-now pulled away and replaced by the reality of cancer, but always asserting life over dread in response. Donald Hall's poems on baseball provide an interesting parallel to Erv's life, both because baseball was a constant in Erv's life and becasue the poem deals with cancer and loss, which is why I read the last stanza at his memorial. Here it is:

In September the Red Sox lose games in the ninth.The season ends.
Even if you win the Series, the season ends, O, and games dwindle to Florida’s Instructional League where outfielders without wheels learn to be catchers.
From Florida north will truck oranges that Jennifer squeezes in the coldlight of a low sun.
I wear my yellow sweater; we eat scrambled eggs from blue and white dishes, her hair’s kerchief is yellow.
We gather yellow days inning by inning with care to appear careless,
thinking again how Carlton Fisk ended Game Six
in the twelfth inning with a poke over the wall.

Erv's life, especially his humor and courage, gave us that kind of hope--ending the game with a home run poke over the wall. Life goes on. Those of us who knew Erv will carry a sadness from his absence. However, and more importantly, he gave us a joy and hope that we can pass down from generation to generation.