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The family of William E. Derby uploaded a photo
Thursday, July 13, 2017
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Bob Stoddart posted a condolence
Friday, August 2, 2013
Driving Bill to the Milwaukee Public Library as he was working on his Doctorate. Two brothers in law sharing what it was like to enter the mysterious realm of a new family...The Hopes. Tougher for him to adapt than for me. Reason: he was a Democrat and the rest of us were Republicans. Our father-in-law presented each of us with a formidable challenge. I still shudder thinking of "Sam" hitting our front door every Saturday with a bag of Doebke sweet rolls. Woe to the son-in-law who was sleeping in that week end AM. He was a man of faith...a friend that only the many miles between us could separate. May he rest in peace.
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Sarah Hope Hampton posted a condolence
Friday, August 2, 2013
Dear Aunt Mary and Derby cousins. We are so sad to hear about Uncle Bill and are sorry we were not with you this week. His smile and warmth are still vivid in my mind, whether the memory is from the old days when we were all young and you'd come for a visit to WI, or from a visit to Geneseo years ago. Please send me an email when you can, and let me know how everyone is doing. Matthew, your tribute here was so thoughtfully shared with everyone. Thanks. Love, Sarah
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Debbie Kirsch posted a condolence
Friday, August 2, 2013
Dear Martha, the Derby and Mock Families: I was not fortunate enough to know your father; I only met him a few times. His children and grand-children reflect his love and dedication to his family. After reading Matthew's amazing and extraordinary tribute, I feel I truly have some sense of this wonderful man. As I hold all of you up to the Lord in prayer, I hope that you will find comfort in your many memories, and the knowledge that Bill is now with the Lord.
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Jeanne & Dennis McDonald posted a condolence
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Martha, I met your father only once; he struck me as a kind and gentle man of great wisdom. Our prayers are with you and your family.
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Matthew Derby posted a condolence
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
A Remembrance
My son and I were on our way to Scarborough Beach in Narragansett, Rhode Island when my brother Phil called to tell me that our father had suffered a heart attack. He was alive but unresponsive, Phil said. I knew that I had to get to Rochester to see him as soon as possible, but my wife, Mary-Kim, was still in the air on a return flight from a conference in Portland. I knew that she would want to drive out to the hospital as well. It would be several hours before I could even call her, and so in my confusion and numbness I kept on driving to the beach. I didn’t know what else to do.
It was the eve of a full moon, nearing high tide. The waves were particularly massive and violent, rearing up suddenly out of a trough in the distance and then hammering down on the shore, knocking over beachgoers and tossing young boys on bodyboards headlong into the roiling surf. The tide rose quickly. Waves surged up onto the beach, dragging buckets, flip-flops, and sunscreen bottles out to sea as they retreated. After each of these waves came, everyone moved their beach things further away from the shore. And just when everyone got settled, another wave would come rushing up and claim more of our belongings. By the time my wife’s plane touched down, the shoreline was just a slender stretch of sand hugging the dunes.
I couldn’t help but see those waves as a symbol of time and its fierce power over us. It sweeps in, and it takes from us what it wants. With my father, it started with the small things. One day, he recognized that he could no longer mow the lawn he’d maintained for forty years. Instead, he stood by the window and watched as a younger man worked the mower in concentric circles, doing it all wrong. Then, after a series of minor accidents, he had to admit that he was no longer able to drive a car. He sat quietly in the passenger seat while his children drove him around. His morning walk used to take him throughout the entire campus of the college where he’d taught for thirty-five years, but his circuit became smaller and smaller until he could no longer take a walk at all. Then it was no longer safe for him to live in his house, and time took that away from him as well. And then the heart attack came and robbed him of his ability to speak. In the end, he was a man in a hospital bed, struggling to stay afloat for his family and for his wife, Mary.
But there is one thing that time could not take from him, and that was his love. When I finally arrived at Highland Hospital the day after the heart attack, I recognized in an instant that the love inside my father was burning as brightly and as clearly as ever. All of his children were gathered around his bed, and he looked at us and smiled that broad, mischievous smile that was his signature expression, and in that moment, we could all see the love that made him who he was — the love that lived and thrived apart from the body he’d been given.
Some people hoard their love, doling it out in tiny slivers while the bulk of the inventory decays in the storehouse of their hearts. Others set off blinding charges of affection that leave them depleted and hollow. Bill Derby’s love burned at a constant, unwavering rate, like the heat from a star. To love with the kind of perseverance and dedication that my father employed requires a hidden strength. To maintain that consistency over the course of a lifetime takes an endurance that is truly cosmic in scale. It may be hard to see this kind of love — it doesn’t make big entrances, or come with fireworks and flares. Indeed, it was sometimes a challenge for us to see our father’s love at all. Nobody here would accuse Bill Derby of being excitable or overly demonstrative, and his calm, quiet disposition could sometimes be mistaken for indifference, even to those of us closest to him. I knew he was proud that I’d been accepted into Brown University only because he mentioned that it had been difficult for him to take a nap after he’d heard the news. But like the light of the sun, his love for his family, his community, his campus, and the rights of the developmentally disabled was the transparent, pervasive force that nourished us all, that gave us life even as we took it for granted.
We’re gathered here today because that light has gone out. But that doesn’t mean that my father is gone. Because all that love that he carefully tended throughout his life is still shining on us. Once I asked him about his teaching methodology and he said, “I don’t think you can ever really teach a person anything. All you can do is provide students with the material that allows them to make good decisions.” I don’t know that I understood what he was suggesting at the time, but I now recognize that this is how he lived his life. You can’t change another person any more than you can hold back the rising of the tide, but you can become the example that inspires other people to change. Bill Derby knew he couldn’t teach us how to love, but he could show us, every day, what loving looked like. And in the same way that the light you’ll see in the stars tonight began its journey hundreds of years ago, the love we’ve already received from Bill Derby is just the beginning. It will continue to shine on us, to nourish us with its steady power, for as long as any of us is alive. And so if there is anything that you can do to remember William Derby when you leave here today, it is to love harder, to love longer, to love with perseverance and dedication through the darkest night and into the brilliance of the new day.
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Gretchen posted a condolence
Monday, July 29, 2013
I'm So Sorry To OF Your Loss.MyThoughts And Prayer Are With You And Your Family.
Gretchen
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The Scruggs Family posted a condolence
Monday, July 29, 2013
Dearest Mary and extended Derby Family,
We were so saddened to learn of the death of your beloved "Birdie" and our friend and neighbor for almost forty years. Our two families have been intertwined in so many ways. Your family values and support of one another has served as a model for so many people. We wish you peace and love in the coming days and may you find comfort in knowing that so many share your loss.
Charles and Elaine Scruggs
Charles, Amy, Robert, and Emily
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Carolyn Larned posted a condolence
Saturday, July 27, 2013
I remember Bill as a very good neighbor on Second Street many years ago. My heart goes out to Mary and all the kids - they will always be kids to me. God will have a very special place in Heaven for him.
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Edan Cohen posted a condolence
Saturday, July 27, 2013
I will always remember Mr. Derby sitting in his comfortable chair in the corner of the living room on 64 Second Street. He and The Derbys always welcomed me into their family dinners and holiday celebrations. My thoughts are with the entire Derby clan.
111 Main Street - Geneseo, NY 14454 - Phone: 585-243-0995 - Fax : 585-243-0984 - rhfhinc@frontiernet.net