We lost our dear friend, Ray, recently, and while words can’t fill the space he leaves behind, I’ll write them anyway, hoping they help hold on to the pieces of him that meant so much to his friends and family.
Ray was never one to draw attention to himself. He wasn’t loud because he didn’t need to be. His presence, steady and familiar, was more powerful than a thousand speeches. Many of us knew him simply as the kindly old man who sat on the right side of the church, fourth row from the front, rain or shine. That seat might as well have had his name on it. Week after week, he’d be there nodding quietly, folding his hands while offering a warm but brief smile to those who passed him by. For some, he was a gentle fixture of their Sunday routine. For others, he was a source of silent comfort, his faith as solid and unwavering as the chairs on which we sit.
Ray and I had a deep love for South Dakota. Hearing about a planned trip to see the buffalo round-up outside of Custer, he told me that was one of the last trips he and his late wife had made. The next Sunday, he came with three DVD’s about the area. Those videos were so wonderful, it felt as if I’d taken a two-hour trip to one of my favorite places in the world. It brought him such pleasure to have shared something so dear to his heart.
Ray’s connection to the church ran far deeper than that fourth-row seat. Behind the scenes, he took it upon himself to keep the place looking its best. If you ever noticed the shiny floor or how not a single cobweb dared appear in the corners, you can thank Ray although he never asked for it. He found peace in doing, fixing, and maintaining what mattered to the people he cared about.
I’ve been told Ray had his rougher edges, too. Some remember him fondly as a bit of a grouch who’d grumble about the weather, the weeds, or the world. But even in those moments, there was a softness beneath. He was a widower, after all. A man who had loved and lost deeply. I would guess his growls were just his way of keeping the loneliness from growing too loud.
To his neighbors, he was a quiet guardian of the street. His yard was always neat, the bushes clipped, and the driveway swept. He set a quiet standard, and we noticed. He taught us, without words, what it means to take pride in what you’re given.
Ray was also a warrior. In these last months, he faced the daunting challenge of open-heart surgery with a kind of quiet courage that only those who have truly lived can muster. He fought hard to recover, and there were days when we believed he might just pull through it all. But in the end, it became too much for his tired body. Still, he gave it everything he had, just as he always did.
Lately, the challenges kept mounting. He was preparing for a major move closer to family, practical but not easy. Leaving the house he had shared with his wife was a lot to ask of someone who had just turned 80. Every room held memories. Every creak in the floorboard spoke of a life lived fully. Only weeks before, he’d lost his church mate, Miss Marion. Their quiet companionship was a comfort to both old friends sitting side by side, Sunday after Sunday. Losing her and the thought of leaving his home were heavy burdens for one heart to carry.
Now, in the stillness he leaves behind, we listen for him in new ways. The wind chimes that hang in the garden sway gently with the breeze, their soft tones dancing through the air. And in those gentle notes, steady, comforting, and familiar memories of those we’ve lost float by. A whisper of those loved ones that were always there keeping watch, order, and faith.
Ray’s legacy isn’t just in polished floors or a pristine fountain. It’s in the little things like the wave across the street or the stories he told if you happened to catch him in a talkative mood. It’s in the quiet spaces where kindness lives without needing to announce itself. He didn’t try to be everything to everyone. He was just Ray. And that was more than enough.
Thank you, Ray, for all the ways you were here. We miss you deeply. Every time the chimes sing, we’ll remember your spirit as it dances in the wind. Heaven has welcomed a beautiful new angel.
