“Once a Spartan, always a Spartan”

I think I heard that phrase at least a hundred times.
I attended the graduation-ceremony of Gates-Chili High-School last night (Wednesday, June 20, 2012) at Rochester Institute of Technology.
Gates and Chili are suburbs west of Rochester.
It was the Class of 2012.
It was in Gordon Field House, a gigantic sports-arena.
Folding chairs had been set up for the many graduates, along with chairs for family. —Stadium-seating had also been rolled out.
Graduating was Christina Bell, daughter of my niece and her husband.
A podium was also set up, along with a giant Jumbotron.
It kept coming back to the Gates-Chili Spartan, illustrated above.
The school band was off to the side to play “Pomp and Circumstance,” and stacks of diplomas were piled on tables.
Speaker after speaker recited those words: “Once a Spartan, always a Spartan.”
The school principal, the District Superintendent, and various class officers.
They also repeated the four attributes of being a Spartan: “Respect, Responsibility, Compassion, and Hard-Work.”
My wife’s brother, my niece’s father by his first marriage — he’s now on his fourth — surmised it best.
“As soon as they leave this place they’ll forget about Spartanism.”
My wife’s brother, age 70, had flown up from Florida to attend this graduation, and also to check on me, still suffering from my wife’s death.
I guess I’m all-right — I’m told I am. But I’m still suffering.
I cry and cry and cry some more.
It’s up-and-down, but my wife’s death seems to have finally sunk in.
I hugged Christina for a photograph, and told her 50 years ago I was in her shoes.
My high-school class was 1962.
I had to leave the ceremony early; my dog was abandoned in the house.
Getting to RIT from my house takes 35-40 minutes one-way.
Christina received her diploma early. Her last name starts with a “B.”
I left about 8:05, got home about 8:50, and already it was getting dark.
The dog was thrilled to see me, despite my feeling I was failing her.
Every time I leave her I get “the look,” like I’m abandoning her.
I guess she’s used to it. We certainly did it enough when my wife was going to Wilmot Cancer Center (“will-MOTT;” as in Mott’s applesauce).
One time was five hours, and it got dark on her.
Wilmot had a way of not letting you leave.

• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I really miss her.