Alex
Richard Ware, artist, lover
of animals, poet, writer, thinker of
things outside-the-box, one who
longed for unity and dreamed of
peace, journeyed to the other side
on Monday, May 15, 2006. A
celebration of his life will be held
at 4 p.m. Thursday, May 18 at Lake
Shore Baptist Church with the Rev.
Dorisanne Cooper and Dr. Nathan
Stone as celebrants. Please join the
family for a celebration party
immediately following the service at
Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of
Waco. Alex was born in Waco on March
18, 1987. The family that loved him
and grieve at his going include his
mother and stepfather, Pat and
Nathan Stone; his father and
stepmother, Richard and Roxanne
Ware; his aunt, Karen Berger and
uncle, Steve McCasland of Homer,
Alaska; brothers who grieve his loss
are Jason, and wife Amy Ware, and
Michael Ware of San Antonio; nieces,
McKenna and K'Lee and nephew Jon
David Ware will miss their Uncle
Alex. Special thanks to his other
"brother", Jonathan and wife Sabrina
Moore. In lieu of flowers, gifts may
be made to the
American Civil Liberties Union;
ABC (Animal
Birth Control) Clinic, 1531
Wooded Acres, Waco, TX, 76710;
Planned Parenthood of Central Texas,
P.O. Box 1518, Waco, TX, 76703. To
honor Alex you are invited to dress
casually; unless you feel compelled
to dress more formally. March 18,
1987 - May 15, 2006
Reproduced
with permission of
the Waco Tribune-Herald, Copyright 2006
A Celebration of the Life of Alex
Ware
May 18, 2006
Dorisanne Cooper
Opening Words and Prayer
God is our refuge and strength, a
very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though
the earth should change, though the
mountains shake in the heart of the
sea; though its waters roar and
foam, though the mountains tremble
with its tumult. The Lord of hosts
is with us. The God of Jacob is our
refuge.
We are gathered here today with the
strengthening fellowship of family
and friends to thank God for the
life of Alex Richard Ware. We are
gathered as Alex’s family, as his
friends, as those who loved him and
who love his family.
It’s hard to imagine a more
difficult moment than the one we now
share, sitting here together at this
edge of human understanding,
attempting to find answers,
attempting to find the right
questions in the silence of someone
who was precious to us and who is
gone. We are altered somehow by
what has happened, changed in ways
we have yet to understand. Alex’s
sudden death has left us reeling and
grief-stricken, and our loss is
beyond words. His death came too
early, too quickly.
And so we gather with our memories
both good and difficult, with our
pain, with our anger, with our
questions and our overwhelming
grief. But we are also gathered in
gratitude for Alex’s life, and the
ways in which he touched various
ones here. We even use the word
“celebrate” today not to make light
of this day or to pretend that it is
not profoundly difficult, but to say
that we take his life seriously in
all its variations. And so, in the
midst of our grief, we will hear
some songs of special significance,
some of which Alex had written about
in his journals, one of which was
already chosen for this service when
yesterday Pat played this music box
which hung over Alex’s crib as a
baby. She had not remembered that
it plays “Over the Rainbow,” a song
with even more significance now.
It is our privilege this day to have
this service in this building, for
this is a place where Alex spent
many of his early growing up years.
Alex’s Children’s Minister Sharlande
Sledge says “from the time he was in
the church nursery and Children’s
Center, Alex was a whirlwind of
energy and life in motion. He never
wanted to miss anything—riding in
the bike-a-thon, running through
sprinklers on the front lawn with
his friends, eating at the
Children’s Center Thanksgiving
Feast, picking squash and potatoes
in the church garden, riding to
Caritas in the van at Helping Hands,
‘helping’ his mom build the climbing
equipment on the playground she
helped design.”
On our pulpit here is a patchwork
parament, part of a set stitched
together from pieces given by church
members about ten year’s ago. If
you look closely you’ll see a small
piece of white jersey knit with a
thin blue stripe. It’s the piece 8
year old Alex contributed, with the
words penned by Pat, “Alex Ware’s
favorite pj’s: He’s had them since
he was two; they just keep getting a
little shorter.”
Alex’s life was a patchwork of so
many emotions. And we are not here
to pretend, that life wasn’t
difficult for him, that he didn’t
have profound struggles through
which his family and so many others
tried mightily to reach him. But we
are also not going to pretend that
the way his life ended was what
should define him. For this was a
young man with a brilliant mind,
with a gift for writing, with a
connection to the world’s pain.
In many ways Alex longed for the
things he often wrote about, things
he could not find for himself, four
in particular that come up again and
again in his writing—peace, love,
unity, respect. And in that spirit
we honor those strivings this day.
It is our comfort that Alex is not
wrestling with his pain anymore,
that he has finally found peace.
And yet our gratitude that he no
longer hurts does not make it okay
with us that he is gone. Those are
both truths of this day… As it is
that God knows and feels our
prayers. That God’s unfailing love
is with us and with Alex. That
God’s promises of hope can be
trusted and can take our heaviest
leaning as we remember with
gratitude and pain Alex’s life
today. May God gather us up and
grant us strength.
Shall we pray?
God of great compassion,
We bring you our grief this day, our
loss, our tears, our heavy hearts at
the death of this beloved son,
brother and friend. We hold common
grief and yet so many individual
stories as well. It is our comfort
that you meet each of us where we
are with what we need. Draw near to
each one here that we might find
rest in your strength.
God of comfort, in these difficult
days make your presence known to
Alex’s parents, to Pat, to Richard
to Nathan, to Roxanne. In the
morning hours when Pat awakens and
looks to face the day, meet her
there with a whisper of peace. Late
at night when Richard is restless,
may he have a sense of your comfort
and care. Surround Nathan with
light in his moments of darkness.
Give Roxanne your tender care.
Shower your compassion on Alex’s
family—on Jason and Amy, McKenna and
K’Lee, on Michael, on Karen and
Steve, on Jonathan and Sabrina, and
so many other family members and
treasured friends. Pour out your
love upon each of these now that
they might find you companion in
their pain. Hold them close to you
that they might find strength in
your care. And breathe through
their lives in the coming days,
weeks and years, that on hard days
they might know of your love and on
good days they might be strengthened
for their own living.
Give each of us gathered here,
family and friends alike, clear
memories of good times with Alex to
weave into the patchworks of our
lives.
As our joy at having known Alex and
our grief at losing him dance their
way in and through each other, bring
a spirit of strength to us all.
Grant us courage and gentleness and
tenderness and peace,
Amen
Closing Words and Benediction
(taken from a poem by Ted Loder and
a Native American blessing)
May God’s gracious spirit which
moves over the mysteries of living
and dying, whose presence is present
in budding leaves, in the call of
wild geese, in the breaking of
bread, in the light in another’s eye
and the deep longing which holds so
many of us, go with you now. May
you be aware of God’s presence so
that wonder works its mystery in
you, so that passion and peace are
released in your living, so that
your confidence is renewed, so that
you might share laughter and
exchange mercy, be at ease in your
struggles, bold in your loving,
brave in facing down your terror,
hopeful in the rising music of
Christ’s love in the world, joyful
and grace-filled in your living.
May the footprints we each make
show that we’ve walked in kindness
toward the earth and every living
thing. May our lives be a dance and
may the wind broadcast peace for all
generations to come.
