Obituary of Barry Jason Bulman

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sales to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I stand watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then some one at my side says: “There! She’s 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 just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her; and just at the moment when some one at my side says, “There! She’s gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, ”There she comes!” And that is dying.