My dad passed away two weeks ago. I read an abbreviated version of this song at his grave site. Oh to have had a decent voice and a guitar!
What Matt Johnson wrote in this song gave me comfort: Dad is still here in some form. He may return in the spring as a bird or or a flower or a baby squirrel for all I know. He could be in the wind or the rain. What comforts me is I know that dad is still part of the mix of nature. This verse really stuck with me…
In our lives we hunger, for those we cannot touch.
All the though unspoken and the feeling unexpressed
weigh upon our hearts like mist upon our breath,
Awoken by grief, our spirits speak,
“How could you believe the spirit within the seed,
Grew arms that reached and a heart that beat
And lips that smiled and eyes that cried
Could ever die?