A day with President and Nancy Reagan, coming back home (pictures/sound)

[coliebird]

You always put together such beautiful, moving tributes that leave me in tears. Thank you for posting this.

 

[Griggle]

As I watched MSNBC last night to catch up on the events, I was heartbroken that I had missed so many of the moments that were being refered to....thank you so much for giving me some last(ing) memories.

 

[PRINCESS VIJA]

What a truly amazing tribute! Thanks Dan.

 

[piglet too]

Thank you for putting that together Dan.

 

[Galahad]

How Wonderful! Thanks Dan!

 

[Keli]

Originally posted by monkeyboy
This one kind of sums it all up

I have to agree with monkeyboy, this pic of an everyday guy stopping and paying tribute to Reagan in his own way reminded me all over again that President Reagan truely was a man of the people. We've lost an incredible leader and I can only hope that my daughter's generation will see a man of his calibur lead our great country.

God Bless America

 

[wuv tigger]

Our thougths & prayers got out to the Reagan family.

I pray for strength for Mrs. Reagan as she bids farewell to her Ronnie!

 

[2bemarried]

Thanks Dan for a wonderful tribute...it touched my heart last night and still does today.

 

[tiggersmom2]

Thanks Dan,

A beautiful and moving tribute to an exceptional man. Now I must go compose myself - I'm a blubbering mess.

 

[DoeWDW]

Dan, thank you so much for putting this together. I was not able to catch any of the coverage, so these images are all I have seen. They have touched my heart and I am grateful to you.

I think Beth summed it up best when she wrote:

I don't mourn so much for the man - I know where he is right now... But I mourn for the country. I pray we don't lose sight of his vision for all of us.

Farewell and Godspeed, President Reagan. You will be missed but your legacy will live on.

 

[kimber79]

What an absolutely beautiful tribute! Thank you so much Dan for putting this together to share with us.

Originally posted by Beth
I don't mourn so much for the man - I know where he is right now... But I mourn for the country. I pray we don't lose sight of his vision for all of us.

So very true!

Originally posted by monkeyboy
This one kind of sums it all up

Absolutely!

God speed to you President Reagan!

 

[UncleKyle]

Thanks so much Dan.

 

[Deb in IA]

Thanks so much, Dan.

Like DoeWDW, I was not able to watch any of this on TV yesterday.

The pictures, the messages, and the music are truly moving.


Mrs. Reagan looks so tired and sad. I know her heart must be breaking . . .

I'd like to see pictures of the surviving children as well, Patti Davis, Ron Reagan, and Michael Reagan, if you have them, Dan. I was so glad that Patti has patched up her differences with her parents so long ago, and was finally able to grow close to her father while he was still able communicate.

She wrote such a moving tribute to her dad in Newsweek magazine, that I reprinted it here (hope that's OK, Dan).










A Daughter's Remembrance: The Gemstones of Our Years
Time taught me to appreciate a distant father—and cherish glimpses of an elusive soul
Patti Davis visits her father in the Oval Office in 1981
By Patti Davis
NewsweekJune 14 issue - The house I grew up in had large plate-glass windows, which birds frequently crashed into headfirst. My father helped me assemble a bird hospital, consisting of a few shoe boxes, some old rags and tiny dishes for water and food. When I lost my first patient, when the tiny gray creature died in my hands without ever eating any of the Cheerios I'd provided for it, my father patiently explained to me that the bird was free now, flying happily through the blue breezes of heaven, where there are no hazards such as windows. I was locked into his eyes, locked into the story. My father was always more accessible when he was teaching his children through stories.

Thirty-five years later, I would walk beside him along the beach, after he had already begun slipping into the shadows of Alzheimer's. A dark thief, it steals portions of a person, leaves remnants behind. He looked up at a flock of seagulls soaring overhead and his eyes followed them, shining with something I couldn't decipher, but which I interpreted as longing.

The years between those two events were often war-torn, weighed down with sorrow—with words he found difficult to say and words I wish I'd never said.

My father was a shy man; he wasn't demonstrative with his children. His affection didn't announce itself with strong embraces of dramatic declaration. We had to interpret it. Like delicate calligraphy, it required patience and a keen eye, attributes I had to acquire. I was not born with them.

Eventually, I grew beyond the girl who wanted more from her father than he was able to give. I began to focus on the gifts he gave me. He taught me to talk to God, to read the stars, respect the cycles of nature. I am a strong swimmer and a decent horsewoman because of him. I plucked from the years the shiniest memories, strung them together. It's what you do with someone who is always a bit out of reach. You content yourself with moments; you gather them, treasure them. They are the gemstones of the years you shared.

I returned to my family, the prodigal child, in October 1994, two months before my father disclosed to the world that he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It's been reported that his disease brought us back together. That's not quite true—it happened earlier, when my mother and I laid down the armaments of our long dispiriting war, allowing the rest of the family to breathe easier, drift toward one another. But the chronology doesn't really matter; the coming together does. I returned in time to say goodbye to my father, to witness his steady withdrawal from this world.

Losing a parent is an experience that has no comparison. Like childbirth, it exists beyond the realm of language: our words strive, but never completely describe it. At first, grief carries you out like a tide to an ending you always knew would come, but couldn't possibly be prepared for. With a long, relentless illness like Alzheimer's, you remember every detail of the journey, every slow mile you traveled.

Hope dies along the way—the hope that things will someday change between you and your parent; you'll be less hesitant, perhaps, with each other, more open. During the last couple of years, I would sit beside my father, silence floating between us, knowing that we would never be any more to each other than we were right then.

I don't know whether the loss is easier or harder if a parent is famous; maybe it's neither. My father belonged to the country. I resented the country at times for its demands on him, its ownership of him. America was the important child in the family, the one who got the most attention. It's strange, but now I find comfort in sharing him with an entire nation. There is some solace in knowing that others were also mystified by him; his elusiveness was endearing, but puzzling. He left all of us with the same question: who was he? People ask me to unravel him for them, as if I have secrets I haven't shared. But I have none, nothing that you don't already know. He was a man guided by internal faith. He knew our time on this earth is brief, yet he cared deeply about making his time here count. He was comfortable in his own skin. A disarmingly sunny man, he remained partially in shadow; no one ever saw all of him. It took me nearly four decades to allow my father his shadows, his reserve, to sit silently with him and not clamor for something more.

I have learned, over time, that the people who leave us a little bit hungry are the people we remember most vividly. When they are alive, we reach for them; when they die, some part of us follows after them. My father believed in cycles—the wheel of birth, and life, and death, constantly turning. My hand was tiny when he held it in his and led me to a blackened field weeks after a fire had burned part of our ranch. He showed me green shoots peeking out of the ashes. New life. I let go of his hand for too long, pushed it away, before finally grasping it again, trusting that even in his dying, I would find new life.

 

[Lachesis00]

Thank you Dan... that was beautiful.

 

[vald1977]

What a beautiful tribute, Dan. Thank you.

 

[mum4jenn]

Thank you Dan and Deb.

 

[BriarfoxinWA]

Thanks Dan. You do such a great job putting these tributes together.

Now I just hope nobody comes into my office and sees me blubbering like an idiot...

 

[N.Bailey]

I've looked at this 3 times now, and I'm unable to get passed that man holding that sign that simply says, "Thank You" without turning into a blubbering idiot. I guess that's the picture that sums it all up for me.

What a beautiful tribute you've create, thanks for sharing it with all of us.

 

[Credit Man]

Wonderful tribute, Dan.

 

[always quiet]

Such a beautiful, moving tribute.

Mrs. Reagan looks so alone and so tired. I pray God gives her the peace and healing.