Eve Lynn Rolls Elliot

Your teacher, Lama Tenzin Yongdu, has been a devoted father to me. . My father loved me. I loved my father. During the past eight years, we have talked with each other for a long time after supper. . In 2014, I visited my father in Pullahari for three weeks. My father moved from Nepal's high elevation at the end of 2014 because his heart and lungs were not able to tolerate the low oxygen. He moved into my home in Jan. 2015. He was active and teaching to the end. . My father was recognized in our small town of Fort Plain because he took long walks on our neighborhood sidewalks. Until shortly before his passing, he drove to a swimming pool three mornings each week-- a beautiful drive in the rural areas of the Mohawk Valley in New York. He did a zooming tonglen practice with a Ukrainian group at lunch time. My father taught evening classes on meditation through our local libraries from the beginning of his time with me. He had started a new class for beginners to be accommodating to their inexperience, shortly before he took his final breaths. He had planned to continue teaching his students from his hospital bed. . My father passed a few minutes after receiving a call from Tenzin Dorjee, during a Pullahari ceremony which was dedicated in part to world peace and harmony. Prayers were said for my father on the last day of that ceremony. His cellphone was held to his ear by Sharon Tunney, a local student, at 3:00 am local time. Before my father's body was removed, Nancy Drury, from Montreal, Canada, read a poem by Emile, Tenzin, and an email from Shambala's Suzann. . My father often visited with his family. When my father turned 90 years old, we had a family reunion for his birthday. On Saturday, March 11, we traveled a hundred miles to a restaurant where we visited with my brother's family, including his four grandsons. A couple days before that visit, he had visited my other brother in his home, also a distance away. He canceled airline tickets for visiting my sister's family in Texas. He did not feel up to the long trip. He has three great-grandchildren he was hoping to visit in Texas. Good that he was not in Texas when there was a sudden decline in his ability to keep breathing. . In the early hours of the morning, after his Sat. 3/11 visit with family, My husband and I were awakened in the night by his labored breathing. An ambulance transported him with the high levels of oxygen he needed for the journey to a local hospital. A couple days later, on Tuesday, zooming with doctors and family, it was decided my father would not be able to return to his home. We were expecting a short stay in the hospital. His breathing became increasing labored at a rapidly declining rate until he took his final breath on Friday, March 17, 2023. Nancy read a poem by Emile and an email from Shambala's Suzann in the presence of my father's body and those gathered. . Because his vital daily living was with our family household, I feel keenly aware of his absence. I miss him when I make supper, when I must lock the door for my home that is no longer filled by his ever-present wakefulness. There was never a dirty dish because he kept the dishes clean throughout the day every day. Every night shortly after 11pm, he called goodnight to me. After a morning conversation as he lay under his covers, every morning we prayed a short prayer at 7:30 am before 7:40 zoom meditation with an international group. "Be good and kind and nurturing to yourself and all sentient beings." I put my hands together and bowed, saying, "Namaste." . My husband and I have swallowed a pill for a blessing, offered by Nancy Drury, who came to my home. I am wearing the white scarf placed by Nancy over my father's breathless body. I will wear it for 49 days. . Arrangements are being made for a funeral service locally. . "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." I experience it. . Eve Lynn Rolls Elliott . ............................... ............................... . My father passed during a long-lasting ceremony dedicated to World Peace and Harmony, and was honored on the last day of it.