In memory of Patricia Humbert (1932-2012)

My mother, Patricia, died on October 11.  She was hospitalized in August after falling in construction debris left at the foot of my parents' driveway and breaking her leg.  Through a series of escalating health crises she ended up in hospice care in early October.  Tonight is the memorial service.  This is my contribution to the service.

      When I was four, I had a very special tradition with my mother.  When Jennifer walked back to school after lunch, Mom would say “how about a story and a nap?”  We’d go into my parents’ room, on the Big Bed, and stretch out side by side.  Mom would pick up whatever chapter book we were reading, read aloud for a while, then fall asleep.  That was my cue to get up and go watch TV until she got up.

      The most memorable stories Mom read to me were the Winnie-the-Pooh stories.   And it’s the very end of The House at Pooh Corner that I have chosen to share this evening.

      Christopher Robin has brought Pooh to the Enchanted Forest at the top of the Hundred Acre Woods.  You’ll remember that he knew it was enchanted “because nobody had ever been able to count whether it was sixty-three or sixty-four trees around, not even when he tied a piece of string round each tree after he counted it.”  He tells Pooh about some of the things out in the world beyond them – “People called Kings and Queens and something called Factors, and a place called Europe, and an island in the middle of the sea where no ships came, … and when Knights were Knights, and what comes from Brazil.  And Pooh, his back against one of the sixty-something trees, and his paws folded in front of him, said “Oh!” and “I didn’t know,” and thought how wonderful it would be to have a Real Brain which could tell you things.  And by-and-by Christopher Robin came to an end of the things, and was silent, and he sat there looking out over the world, and wishing it wouldn’t stop.”

      Of course, the reason Christopher Robin has taken Pooh there is to say goodbye.

      “Suddenly…Christopher Robin, who was still looking out at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out “Pooh!”

      “Yes?” said Pooh.

      “When I’m—when—Pooh!”

      “Yes, Christopher Robin?”

      “I’m not going to do Nothing any more.”

      “Never again?”

      “Well, not so much.  They don’t let you.”

      Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again.

      “Yes, Christopher Robin?” said Pooh helpfully.

      “Pooh, when I’m—you know—when I’m not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?”

      “Just Me?”

      “Yes, Pooh.”

      “Will you be here too?”

      “Yes, Pooh, I will be, really.  I promise I will be, Pooh.”

      “That’s good,” said Pooh.

      “Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever.  Not even when I’m a hundred.”

      Pooh thought for a little.

      “How old shall I be then?”

      “Ninety-nine.”

      Pooh nodded.

      “I promise,” he said.

      Still with his eyes on the world, Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh’s paw.

      “Pooh,” said Christopher Robin earnestly, “if I—if I’m not quite—“ he stopped and tried again—“Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?”

      “Understand what?”

      “Oh, nothing.”  He laughed and jumped to his feet.  “Come on!”

      “Where?” said Pooh.

      “Anywhere,” said Christopher Robin.

* * * * *

So they went off together.  But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.