My introduction to the DVD about Vaiva

At one time I had hoped to have a stirring address for Vaiva's memorial service.  I thought I might talk about carrying on her work, or my difficulties in coming to terms with her death, or something.  I was not able to do that.  Creating the photo essays was hard enough, something I kept putting off, but did finally finish.


Rather than the speech I hoped for, I simply explained the source for the name of the blog, then called for the DVD to be played.


December 6, 2009

Memorial service for Vaiva Radasta Vebra

Holy Trinity Church, Hartford, Connecticut

Introduction by James B. Gust

Thank you all for coming today, and thank you Sigita and everyone else who worked so hard to make this happen. 

When I started the blog for remembering Vaiva a year ago, I called it “Vaiva, my Vaiva.” The title was a conscious allusion to the Walt Whitman poem, “O Captain, my Captain,” from “Leaves of Grass.” That poem was about Abraham Lincoln, how he had steered the ship of state safely through the civil war, but was assassinated at the war’s successful conclusion.

Much the same sentiment, I thought, applied to Vaiva. Both as to how she contributed to the success of Lithuania’s re-emergence as an independent state, and her role for me. In addition to being a wife, mother, lover and friend, Vaiva was the hero of my life.

Here is Whitman’s poem.

O Captain! My Captain!

1 O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!	5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;	10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,	15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;	20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

I’ve prepared nine short meditations on Vaiva, and put them into a single 35-minute video. You’ll know it’s over when you see my name on the screen.