In Piam Memoriam

I'd like to start by saying "Thank you" to everyone that came here today. It's been a really difficult week for Pete and I, and your loving support is much appreciated. The death of a close friend is never easy, and in these trying times I feel it's best to be surrounded by my loved ones. So once again, thank you for being here. I will try my best not to cry.

We are here today to honor the life of Captain Archibald Jack Cooper. He was a most loyal van, and yet I like to think of him more as a friend and family member. Although I didn't know him for very long he was always there for me. There to pick me up at the airport when I came back to New Zealand, there to drive us to our new life in Christchurch, there when I needed a hug or someone to talk to. He was always a good listener.

I wish I could tell you more about his past which I'm sure was as rowdy and adventurous as his last days, but all I know is that we adopted him from Mr. John Cooper, Pete's brother, who is to be commended for all the hard work, time, effort and love he put in with The Captain. John is a mechanic and although it seemed the end for Old Arch he refused to pull the plug on his dear friend. Archie's engine was rebuilt, along with multiple other surgeries, to give the Ole Fella another chance to feel the wind on his face as he trundled, gasped and wheezed his way through the mountains once again.

To me, Capt. Arch was not only a friend but a symbol of freedom. We drove up and down the length of the South Island together. He went with us up to the beaches of Kaiteriteri and Nelson, down through the mountains in the Southern Alps, along the eastern coastlines, and navigated us through the city of Christchurch, knowing that we would be lost without him. And now we are.

I look to the Universe for some answers and some peace. It tells me that everyone has their destined time on this Earth, and well, Archie was no spring chicken. He passed away driving back from Queenstown, and I bettcha he couldn't have been happier. Full tank of gas, new oil and a wide-open road, long as the eye can see. Before we knew there was something wrong he just lost power and came to a stop on the side of the highway with a nice, loud thud: his last hoorah before passing into the Land of the Unknown.

As a parting joke, Archie left us about 20 km. north of a town called Twizel, just past Lake Pukaki. For all who don't know, Twizel is more of a village in the middle of nowhere. Population: 1,200 occupants. Pete and I hitched a ride into town and walked over to the one pub in town, banking on Small Town Kiwi Hospitality to get us out of this mess before the sun set. Not much luck there, but we did find some friendly and helpful people at Shawty's, the one restaurant in town. After hearing our story, Troy the owner left his full restaurant to drive us to his house, switch cars and get a tow rope, drive out to get The Captain and tow him back into town, dropping us off in front of the mechanic's shop. All without taking any money or beer offered.

Saint Troy of Twizel, you are an Angel of Compassion for Poor Travelers. Thank you.

The next morning we got up and found Russel the Mechanic. He takes a look at poor Arch, shows Pete the blown head gasket and where water got into the cylinders, and signs the Death Certificate for 9:15 am, Tuesday, February 8th, 2011. Unless we have $1,300 to fix him. We do not. Russel offers us $50 to take him off our hands, committing his soul to the High Heavens and his parts as an Organ Donor to other sick and dying vehicles.

The next part in this tragedy involves me sweet-talking a bus driver into driving out of the way with a bus filled with people over to our van, loading up half of our life, and taking us to Christchurch. In this includes Pete's BMX bike, my snowboard, a single mattress, our bags from the weekend, an assortment of tools, snow chains, cooking pots, helmets, shoes, a tea kettle, a skateboard, and a box of beer. After seeing out tired and stressed expressions the driver, in true Kiwi Hospitality, doesn't even charge us for all the extra space we're using. Once in Christchurch we re-load into a taxi and head for home, too exhausted to even comprehend our loss.

What now? It hasn't been easy to cope with our grief, and learning to live with our loss has been a challenge this week. Archie's death teaches us to cherish the time we have with our loved ones now. Right now. "In Piam Memoriam" means "In Loving Memory," and that is why we are here today: to remember Captain Archibald Jack Cooper in our heads and in our hearts.

To end this, I'd like to quote Kahlil Gibran in his poem "Death":

"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."

Dance, Archie, dance. And know that you will be missed.