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In loving memory of David Pope who passed away on Sunday, February 10th 2019 at the age of 73 years. Beloved father of Erin Pope, Lane Pope, Sandra Pope, & brother of Richard.
There will be a celebration of life for David at a later date.
If a star visible to us today, about 2 billion light years away, dies now, we would come to know of its death only when the light from its supernovae reaches us, after 2 billion years. I think that death is the same in the fact that just because someone is gone, it doesn’t mean that they aren’t still here. They live on in the stories we continue to tell. Those favourite moments that we pass on to others who knew them, or strangers we will meet.
Erin grew up on the stories of the three Pope brothers.
Like the time they were all too little to drive so Dave stood on the seat and Rich ran the pedals of an old ‘29 Chevy Coupe. Well… Dave hollering “Whoa” but Rich heard “Go!” I think their need for speed started here – but it took them straight into a poplar tree.
Or the time Dave and Rich were out deer hunting and there were three bobcat kittens in a tree and Dave thought it would be fun to catch them. So up the tree he went to shake the branches. Rich standing beneath with his jacket ready to catch the first one to fall, and with a few colourful words when the kitten hit “Dave come and help me let this thing go!”
The days spent with Dad learning to fish, skin a deer, turn a wrench, how many different sizes of Holley carbs there really are, and yet you would come and help me pull weeds in the garden or plant flowers and in recent years – chase those damn goats.
The first trip I ever took to the mountains was with Dave and Rich. It was so hot on the way up. No A/C in the old car. We stopped where there were some people swimming in a river. They had a little dam built up, so the water was deeper. I think Dad tried to tell me that the water might be a little cold, but I ran headlong and dove right on in. And I came up white with eyes the size of saucers to those two laughing so hard and I think all dad could say in “some things ya just gotta learn on your own.”
You leave a hole in my life now only surpassed by the one in Uncle Richard’s because you two were completely inseparable. You are mourned by Sandra and Lane, and mostly by whoever knew you. And with a heavy heart I write this, but I know with nothing but my love for you – just like the last light of the star that takes two billion years to reach us, you live on so long as someone out there in the thousands of lives you touched in your lifetime remembers you.
And let’s face it… the living you did, left a heck of a lot of stories Dad.