My dad's younger brother, Peter passed away on Tuesday in Pennsylvania. He had suffered from some complicated health problems and hadn't been himself for a long time. Since we lived so far a part, I didn't get to spend much time with Peter (or his lovely daughters), but I always admired him for being a fiction writer and teacher. When I was in college and thinking about grad school, he spent lots of time reading stories and giving advice.
We had a few opportunities to spend quality time together in St. Paul a few years ago and needless to say we sat up most of the night and I didn't make it into work the next day. He loved to talk about memory and writing and so you can imagine I was totally enthralled.
I'm glad that he's not suffering, but I'm so sad that I didn't get to know and understand more about him.
From Penn State:
Peter Schneeman, associate professor emeritus of English, retired in January after thirty-two years at Penn State. Joining the department in 1971, Peter was promoted to associate professor in 1982. He wrote many short stories and specialized in the teaching of fiction. Known as an excellent teacher with rigorous standards and a real concern for helping his students become better writers, Peter won the College’s Outstanding Teaching Award in 1995.
My parents are heading out east to the funeral on Monday. They learned of Peter's death on their way to my mom's nephew, Tim Kelly's funeral. Tim had cancer and was another relative - a first cousin - who I should have known better.
The moral of the story for us these days is that people matter, family matters, faith matters - everything else is just background noise. The last few weeks have made me think about what I really spend my time listening to - and what are the sounds that I want my children to hear.
This is the prayer that I read at Tom's memorial:
We seem to give them back to you, Oh God, who gave them to us. Yet as you did not lose them in giving, so we do not lose them by their return.
For life is eternal and love is immortal, and death is only a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, O strong Son of God, that we may see further; cleanse our eyes that we may see more clearly; draw us closer to Yourself that we may be nearer to our loved ones who are with you.
And while You prepare a place for us, prepare us also for that happy place, that where You are we may be also forevermore. Amen
Fr. Bede Jarrett, O.P.
It's sunny today but very cold - I'm anxious for the apple blossoms and the new baby. Blessing on all of you and your loved ones today.
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