It was one of the most incredible sights I’ve ever seen – and this photograph doesn’t begin to do it justice. It happened at the end of the memorial service for one of Kenosha’s most distinguished and beloved citizens, renowned children’s author Florence Parry Heide, who died this past Monday at the age of 92. The most recent of her more than 100 published children’s books was called “Princess Hyacinth: The Surprising Tale of a GIrl who Floated” – a girl who for strange reason floats- and lives most her young life weighed down by various heavy objects given to her by her parents … that is, until the day she discovers how wonderful it is to allow herself to float into the sky. One of the most beautiful images in the book by award-winning illustrator Lane Smith is of Hyacinth floating high up in the sky with balloons – and Florence’s words say it all: “I never knew the sky was so high.” In keeping with that exquisite image and because it so beautifully embodied Florence’s own life, her memorial service ended with hundreds of brightly-colored, helium-filled (and bio-degradable) balloons being released into the sky, where the wind took them out over Lake Michigan. It was like something out of a Hollywood script, only it was completely real – and completely wonderful.
I’ve begun with the end of the story, in a sense. Now a word about this stupendous woman. Florence Parry Heide married into one of Kenosha’s finest families and found great joy and satisfaction in raising five children with her husband Don. Once her children reached their teen years, she hungered for some sort of new creative adventure. She and a dear friend named Sylvia Van Clief, began writing children’s songs – Florence penning the lyrics and Sylvia the music – but they were never able to attract the attention of a single publisher. But this venture is what helped nudge Florence into what proved to be a spectacularly successful career as a children’s author, with her first book published not long before her fiftieth birthday. As someone at the memorial service said so movingly, Florence undertook this brand new adventure around the age when most people find their lives sort of winding down and perhaps are already dreaming about the day when they might retire. What a inspiration she was to everyone who knew her and even to people who didn’t know her but knew her moving story.
Florence may have been an exceptionally talented writer, but what made her so beloved was her vibrant love of life- her open-hearted love of people- her tender, fun-loving rapport with children- her all-encompassing devotion to her family- and her legendary hospitality. One of the people who spoke today talked about how when visitors would walk into her home for the first time, Florence would greet them with her gleaming smile, a vigorous hug, and a sincere greeting like “How wonderful! New friends!” Today before the service, a beloved retired Carthage professor named Dudley Riggle told me that he and other colleagues were invited to Florence’s home many many times in the early and mid sixties because, in his words, “she was so thrilled that Carthage College had moved to Kenosha and she was so anxious that its faculty would like Kenosha and feel welcome there.” Now that’s love.
I crossed paths with Florence a fair amount over the years, at various cultural events in and around town – and I also had the distinct pleasure of interviewing her on the morning show any number of times. (And I was both thrilled and humbled to know that she was a faithful listener.) But I suppose my most vivid memories of Florence comes from those occasions when Kathy and I would Christmas carol with several other couples and their children – and we almost always had Florence’s home on our itinerary. And when we would arrive, there would invariably be a houseful of company there already having all kinds of holiday fun – but Florence would flash us that award-winning smile of hers and make us feel like the Real Fun only began when we walked in the door. She may have been an astonishingly special woman, but in some ways her greatest gift was how she could make the people around her genuinely feel that they were every bit as special as she was. And what an amazing gift that is!
I was tremendously honored to be part of the memorial service at Carthage this afternoon – singing two of the songs that Florence co-wrote, and also accompanying violinist Ann Heide, who played a solo by Sir Edward Elgar, Florence’s favorite composer. But it was just as thrilling and moving for me to simply sit with the rest of the audience and listen to the eloquent, heartfelt tributes which both family members and friends shared with us. Some of the loveliest thoughts were shared by some of Florence’s longtime neighbors, who knew better than anyone the limitlessness of her joy and affection. Family members also spoke so movingly of her devotion to them over the years. I especially appreciated the sharing of one grandson who told us about the Writing Club – in which various members of the family would write letters to Florence, who in turn would copy the letters, bundle them, and send them out for everyone to enjoy. It’s such a neat idea, but almost the best part was hearing this young man talk about it with such sincere appreciation. There was also the heartbreaking moment when one grand- niece talked about how the sadness of this loss may only hit her in the coming weeks as, in her words, “my mailbox remains empty” – meaning that there will be no more letters coming from her beloved great aunt. For as much as this was to be a celebration of Florence’s life, there were certainly moments like this when it was acknowledged that a very bright light had gone out in our world.
Perhaps the most moving moment of the service for me was when Florence’s granddaughter Nora Heide read a beautiful poem by Henry Van Dyke titled “I Am Standing Upon The Seashore.” It had been read at the funeral for Florence’s husband Don, as well as at her mother’s funeral. This poem helps us see death in a very different way – and as all of us watched those balloons float away, we couldn’t help but remember these remarkable words. . .
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails
to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand at watch her until at length
she hang like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says:
“There, she is gone!”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight
to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says
“There, she is gone!”
there are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
“Here she comes!”
And that is dying.
Thank you, Florence, both in life and in death, for helping us see so much in a new way.