Remembering John Buskirk

JOHN D. BUSKIRK

                        

To the outside world we all grow old.  But not to brothers and sisters.  We know each other as we always were.  We know each other's hearts.  We share private family jokes.  We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys.  We live outside the touch of time.  ~Clara Ortega

Poem for my Son's Ghost - Poem Adapted by Kate Buskirk

Now is my son
A traveler, like all the bold men.
He talked of,endlessly
And with boundless admiration,
Over the supper table,
Or gazing up from his white pillow
Book on his lap always,until
Even that grew too heavy to hold.
 
Now is my son free of all binding fevers.
Now is my son
Traveling where there is no road.
 
Finally he could not lift a hand
To cover his eyes.
Now he climbs to the eye of the river,
He strides through the Dakotas,
He disappears into the mountains. And though he looks
Cold and hungry as any man
At the end of a questing season,
 
He is one of them now:
He cannot be stopped.
 
Now is my son
Walking the wind,
Sniffing the deep Pacific
That begins at the end of the world.
 
Vanished from us utterly,
Now is my son circling the deepest forest
And turning into the last red campfire burning
In the final hills,
 
Where the chieftains,warriors and heroes
Rise and make him welcome,
Recognizing, under the shambles of his body,
A brother who has walked his thousand miles.
Adapted from "Poem for My Father's Ghost," by Mary Oliver

Welcome

                                   

 

This page was created in remembrance of the life of John Buskirk, and with special care for his mother, brothers, friends, and family.  John has been a coach, teacher, son, grandson, husband, brother, cousin, uncle, nephew, and friend.  Most importantly, though, he was one of us.  And we are all ordinary people hoping for the extraordinary.  The difference is not hoping for the extraordinary, but believing in it.  And John did.  He worked hard, loved his family, cheered his favorite football teams, played with his dogs, and generally took life’s twists and turns honestly.  Johnny was not a hero by pursuit, but by nature.  The strength in John was in his everyday steadfast character, enduring optimism, and sense of humor.  On this page, we hope to appreciate John for who he is, and who he continues to be.