Honoring Jix's Lost Loved Ones
 

This is the thread where people can celebrate Dia de los Muertos by quietly and sacredly honoring and remembering their loved ones. Please feel free to put all of yours in the same post, or, if you are more comfortable, reply to this thread separately for each remembrance.

Thank you for participating in Jixemitri's virtual celebration of Dia de los Muertos.

Of course, I want to honor my Chancey, whom I lost in June. He was a special little dog, and almost everyone who met him thought so. He was so full of love and warmth and friendliness and fiestiness and playfulness. He loved to cuddle, and always had to follow mommy everywhere. And he was just so darn cute and loveable that the fact that he was "an endless black hole of aching emotional need" (Aunt Mary's very apt description) didn't matter (much). He was a true friend, getting me through the rough times of my life with a cuddle or a kiss, and I truly hope that I meet him again someday on the Rainbow Bridge. I love you Chancey-bear. :hug:

To my beloved Grandma Arlene. You were a guiding light to me throughout my childhood, and I always loved spending time with you - whether it was shopping with you or visiting with you at your house over tea or running around Europe with you, you always made things so fun. I always felt a special bond with you, and when my mom told me that you told her that, while you loved all of your grandchildren equally, you felt a special affinity for me, well, I was never happier. I miss you endlessly, and I hope you're enjoying yourself in heaven, and making everything fun for those around you up there.

Beloved cats
 

My childhood pets, born in March 1976: Patti Pawes (died December 1992) and Phydeaux James (died November 1993). They were the first cats we had that lived for a long time and became woven into the fabric of my life. Patti and Phydeaux and I grew up together -- I was 13 when we got them. Patti was fearful and took a long time to trust, but then she liked to wrap her paws around my neck and nuzzle my neck. Phydeaux liked to sleep under the covers and was a great heating pad.

My own cats, born July 1985: Abercrombie Louisa (died January 1998) and Percival Jane (died September 2002). The first living beings I had sole responsibility for. Abby "reeked" of personality -- jumped onto people's heads, sang along with music, liked to eat garlic, and would grab and drag a fullsized afghan across the floor. Perci loved cantelope and was supremely confident that the world revolved around her. Both liked to held on their backs while we sang and played "If You're Happy and You Know It Clap Your Paws." Losing Abby was horribly difficult. The last year of Perci's life, I know she held on to get me through losing my mother. I have their ashes and hope to see them again someday.

My mother
 

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that the person I most miss is my mother, Nancy Ahlf Best (April 8, 1927 - August 11, 2001). To know her was to love her.

She supported me in all that I did, and cared about whatever I cared about. She wanted me to be who I was, and not something in her mind. Family lore is that, when she brought me home from the hospital, the first thing she said was "I wonder what kind of person you are?" Every year on my birthday, she'd call and say "Well, I woke up at 4:00 am again, but grateful not to be in labor." She would leave messages for the cats on my answering machine ("Hello, Perci. Hello, Abby. This is Grandma. Please give your mother a message for me...")

When I was 13 and told her I'd never tell her ANYTHING, she calmly said "Okay, but make sure you do talk to someone who knows more than you do." When I was embarrassed by an old mother with grey hair, she agreed to pretend not to know me. When I embarrassed her, she ignored that.

She survived a horrid and nasty divorce from my father, was always ready to help someone else, and had a strong faith. She had a great sense of humor and a wonderful sense of the ridiculous. She was a special education teacher for years and had patience and sensitivity.

She had special recipes for homemade lollipops (peanut butter on a spoon) and homemade sandwich cookies (powdered-sugar-and-milk-paste between graham crackers). She crocheted afghans and drew pictures of paperdoll-type ladies for me to color. When I was 12 and reading Gone With the Wind, she let me read nonstop until I finished the book -- I didn't have to do any chores until I was done. She saved money and didn't buy stuff she wanted so I could go to Europe on a class trip when I was 13. And everytime I needed her, she was there.

To quote my dissertation: "To my mother and my best friend. I have been doubly blessed."

I miss her every day.

This will increase next year, as I'll be losing two family members, but for now:

-My beloved Iolaus, who more than my dog, and I lost her last year. She was everything in my world, friend, protector, child, best friend, guide, and i loved her completely. Her soul was one tht I have walked with through many lives, and the quest I've been on is to meet up with her again, but I will always remember her in this form as well.
-my Uncle Steve, Uncle Art, and Grandma Ann - you've all watched over me at some point for which I thank and love you for, and I know you'll be there to assist Dad when he crosses over.
-Grandpa Sam - you've been one of my biggest guardians since I was a child and I thank and love you for your help, and I know you'll take care of Grams when she joins you.

May you all have found the peace you needed or wanted.

:hug: to everyone who has lost someone.

I'd like to honor my step-dad, Sam, who passed away in January at 80 years of age. He was my "dad" from the time I was nine, and made a real difference in my life.

Arthur J. Halverson
 

I would like to honor my Grandpa Halverson, who entered into this world on June 21, 1918 and entered into deep sleep on September 27, 1999. To read more about this special man in my family, go here:

Arthur J. Halverson, my Grandpa

Okay, this is a bit hard.

Vera Jones (Great-grandma) 1908-1996 I was very close to her. I could tell her ANYTHING. She never got angry with me. If I told her about something she didn't approve of, she let me know, but then said something to make me feel better. I don't think there was anything I didn't tell her. She died at 87. I wish she could have met Alan and the kids. I think she would have approved of my choice, and I KNOW she would have loved my babies. It is my personal belief that she has become my guardian angel. Even now, I just talk to her, tell her my problems, and an answer comes to me. I can even hear her tell me. Towards the end, when she was mixing up her own children, she always knew who I was. About a month before she died, she saw a mood ring I was wearing and decided she liked it. I promised to get her one. It was a promise I didn't keep. Mema offered to let me send one to the funeral home, but I wouldn't do it, because it would always be black, never blue. I still miss her, and always think of her, especially on January 22. I love you and miss you Granny! You gave me love, support, and inderstanding, even when I didn't deserve it. You always listened when I needed to talk. You never got angry. The only time you even got stern with me was when you filled my plate with cooked greens and made me eat every bite. I still don't like those. The three things I miss the most are seeing the love shining in your eyes, the hugs, and listening to you stories. Some of the stories were crazy, and now people say that your meds were mixed up and you were hallucinating, but I STILL believe your house is haunted. I wish Uncle Bert hadn't just closed up the house. I know all of your lovely things are just rotting away, instead of with people who loved you and would appreciate them because of that. Not many people get to know their great-grandmothers, so I count myself lucky that I did. Everything you told me, plus stories I've heard since you've been gone all tell me that their was no better woman in your generation. The only one that comes close is Mema.

James and Sarah Swift
Perry and Mary Compton
Daniel Joseph Compton
Evelyn McDaniel
Mark Hallack
Michael Sandoval
Kristi Harris
Stacy Heater
Terry
Bessie
Cinders
Chance

My sister Suzy drowned nearly 30 years ago. It's my only memory of her.

Suzy, I miss you so much. There are so many things we never got to do together. You would have been 30 in February. You are always in my heart and I will never forget you.

Toby Halverson
 

For as long as I can remember, my brother and I have wanted a pet. When we were little, we had gerbils and fish, but we've always wanted a cat or dog, especially after hearing all about the silly stories my parents would tell from their youths.

So, one spring day in 1993, we made arrangements with a local breeder to buy a Bostan Terrier. There was no question what it would be named. We would bring home a boy dog and his name would be Toby, the latest addition to the long line of Bostans named Toby in our family.

He had serious issues since his mother abandoned the litter right after birth, and so we took him home at 4 weeks and cared for him, getting up every two hours to feed him, clean up after him...the works.

Dexter, the family cat, even began to clean up after him and bathe him, which was adorable in and of itself.

After about two years, we noticed that Toby was having siezures. After a few vet visits, he given epilepsy medication which helped to prolong his life by 10-15 years. Bostans live roughly 15-18 years anyway, so we were satisfied with that. But, we knew it was only a matter of time.

Toby was a snuggly little baby puppy who never failed to be the cutest thing on Earth, even at times when he was naughty. You couldn't be mad at him very long at all because as soon as he looked up at you with the big, brown eyes, ears back, lips curled up in submission, you knew that he was sorry.

He had a series of nicknames: Teedies, Toby-toes, Dopey, and pretty much anything you could massacre with baby-talk. He answered to pretty much anything, as long as you had a treat for him.

He knew how to roll over, sit, shake hands, speak, stay, and dance all on command.

Unfortunately, he began to die about six months prior to his death and he went downhill fast. Mom had the hardest time with this because at this time, Dad was in the hospital with his heart problems, and dealing with her parents, too. There was no money for more treatments, or to put him down in a humane fashion. Erik, my brother, offered to do it quick with his rifle, but Mom wouldn't hear of it. It's hard to make these kinds of decisions when someone you care for is suffering so much. The vet suggested a drug overdose by using all of his medication at once. Mom smashed up all his pills, and called Toby down to the kitchen.

At 10 PM every night, Dexter gets his Nummy. Toby gets his medication mixed in with a small dab of cat food. That night, Toby got everything. She told me that within an hour, he was fast asleep on the chair and by morning, he was gone.

I miss that little nut like crazy, and think that maybe some day, they'll get another Bostan Terrier and name him Toby.

In seventh grade, I rode a school bus for the first time in my life. The Junior High school I attended was 30 miles away, over a mountain and briefly across state lines. It was a grueling trip that every day felt as if it would never end.

Then I met Mark. He was two years older than I was and an eighth grader. For a timid child, only two years removed from the protective cocoon of private school, having someone smile at you and talk to you was a Very Big Deal.

We spent two years on the school bus talking, joking and doing homework. We were in the band together in Junior High but the next year he moved to the high school. Sometimes he drove, sometimes he rode with friends and every once in a while, he would show up on the bus again and we'd spend the hour and a half trip laughing and joking like the years before.

When I became a Sophomore in high school, he changed my life. One evening, when we were both riding the activity bus after NJROTC and Band practice, he introduced me to his friend, Ralph.

Ralph left for the Marine Corps that summer and, by unspoken guy agreement, Mark kept watch over his best friend's girl. The next summer, it was Mark's turn to take his place on the boot prints at MCRD San Diego and it was my turn to watch over his girl - his mom.

Four years ago, I struggled with depression. My marriage was nearly broken and I hadn't seen my family in several years. I wasn't sad or upset or angry. I was apathetic. I simply didn't care any more about anything. In April 2001, Ralph and I traveled home to watch my sister go to her prom. That night, I saw Mark again for the first time in several years. As soon as I started to walk by him, he pulled me against him and gave me the best hug I've probably ever had in my life.

We spent that evening playing pool, drinking, laughing and joking. We were loud. We were tipsy. I cheated and, with a smile and a shake of his head, Mark let me.

That was the last time I saw Mark alive. He had just celebrated his 28th birthday when he was in a car accident that ended his life in February 2002.

There are times when I talk to him, particularly when I'm driving. When I do something stupid or am driving a little too fast, his voice enters my mind and says "And they said I was a bad driver. Slow down a little, ok?"

And I do, because you don't ignore advice from your guardian angel.

I would like to remember my sister, Mary Anne, who died shortly after her birth; my Dad, 1921 -1970, who gave me his love of the natural world and and encouraged me to experience life from all directions, who met such an untimely end in a car accident on a rain-slick road; and my Mom, (1927 - 1994) who carried on without him and managed seven kids and everything that goes with that afterward.

And then there is Ming, my first horse and one of my best ever friends of any species; and Breeze, my German shepherd and first dog; Slick, my Australian cattle dog, left to me by someone who went on vacation and never came back for the dog...Slick was a pretty good farm dog and good companion for years afterward.

Chip, "my" squirrel and first rehab critter, who was so named because he loved to sit on my shoulder, who had an accident the day before I would have released him back to the wild.

Cracker, Rusty, Skipper--all very special horses who were not mine on paper, but in my care for years. Rambo, Scummer, Deepsea Diver, and many other cats and kittens, farm or home, who made my life special.

My two best canine companions in the universe, Oz and Brie, my Jack Russell terriers that were a part of my life since, literally, they were twinkles in their parents' eyes and for sixteen long years. Oz and Brie went with me everywhere, adapting from horse farm life, to complete outdoor life in the forests of Oregon, to living in an apartment, and to the frozen prairies of North Dakota with equal aplomb. We were packmates, and it's been three years since they died. I still miss them terribly.

:hug: to everyone who has lost loved ones of any species.

terry

Today I remember my mother (1941 - 1995). You suffered all your adult life with M.S. and I never really knew you. I know that you always loved me, and I love you too. I'll see you on the other side of the river and finally get to know you. I love you, Mom.

My grammar school class was small and a very tight-knit group. There were 32 of us, most of whom went to school together from Kindergarten straight through 8th grade.

Every experience in a group like that is a special bond. Surviving the hard times strengthens the bond and helps you to grow together.

For that reason, I will always be grateful for our classmate, Christopher J. Bushardt. He succumbed to leukemia when we were in 7th grade. Supporting him through his illness, and finding ways to do things for his parents and family, was one of the best experiences I ever had (in one of those weird, you-can't-appreciate-it-now-but-you'll-understand-later kind of ways).

I especially remember him at Halloween, because that was the last day I ever saw him alive. He had been allowed to come back to school. He was bald and bloated from the chemo, but he took it all in stride. He dressed in PJs and carried a rattle, dressing as a baby. We had a parade outside, and he caught a cold. The cold caused a major turn for the worse, and he died a couple of months later. In my mind, I have always felt that Halloween killed him. I guess that's why I'm not a major fan of Halloween.

Every week, when Chris and his mom would go to the hospital for his treatments, the song You Light Up My Life would play on the radio. It became our theme song, and the class sang it to his mom at his funeral. To this day when I hear that song, I remember his smile and his laughter.

Chris, your life was short, but your impact on this world will never be forgotten.

In memory of my grandparents, Karl and Kay Voltz, the most positive influences in my life. I miss your love and support.

For Geo's dad, George J. Lodick, Jr. Your son feels your loss every day.

The best pastor, counselor and confidante we have ever known, Rev. Nick Linde. Life is not the same without you, my friend.

For my children who never made it to this world. I wish I'd had the chance to hold you in my arms. I'm constantly amazed by the influence you've had on my life without ever getting a chance to have one of your own. To September, October and March, someday I'll Hold You In Heaven.

Inez Jones (Mema) 1938-2005. You weren't just my grandma. You were a grandma and mom rolled up in one. When Momma couldn't take care of me for whatever reason, you were there. You took care of me. You spoiled me, but made sure that I still cared about others. You taught me a great many things. I still have questions, but now I can't pick up the phone to call and ask them. I always called you when I was upset or needed advice. I made a HUGE mistake in my life. I never told you how much I appreciated you. We got on each other's nerves so easily, but I think that's because we were so alike. I know there were many times you could have cheerfully strangled me. You always let me know by using that low, quiet, scary voice. I knew when I heard that voice that I'd better shape-up. I wish you were still here. There's no one I trust like I trusted you. I could talk to you about anything. As I see it, you should have been here for another 20 years, so you could follow the tradition of being 87. I know you tried so hard. You fought until the end. I'm very happy I was able to be with you on your last good day. No matter what I needed, you were always there. I didn't appreciate that as much as I should have. I still grieve over losing you, but I'm trying to be a person you'd be proud to call yours. I doing a lot better. That's not to say I don't have any set-backs, but I finally stopped "Cutting off my nose to spite my face." On Sunday, for the first time since the day after I got home from your funeral, I picked up the phone to call you. Sometimes I forget that you're not there. I'm coming to Bama for Thanksgiving. If Lori can make it, we're leaving all the kids with their daddies, and we're coming to visit you. If she can't make it, I'm coming alone. I just miss you so much. I didn't realize it was possible. And you know how much I hate to cry, but when I think about you, then remember, I can't help it. THANK YOU FOR TEACHING ME THAT IT'S OKAY TO CRY. I love you.

Blaine Redman - He was new to our grade school and was in my 3rd grade class. So was I. He sat right in front of me and would often turn around and talk to me during free times, art class...the times when we were allowed to talk. He often caught me trying to draw faces, dresses...silly girl stuff. I remember the first time he caught me, I became bashful and quickly hid my drawings. He asked to see them. I said "NO!" and stuffed everything in my desk. I felt really bad about it that night, so the next day, when he asked to see them, I said "Okay" and showed him. He told me that he thought they were really nice. Because he was so nice to me over my drawings (which looked like chicken scratch, anyway), I helped him with spelling, reading, and math. Over the year, we became good friends. The summer came and went and the first day of school my 4th grade year, it was explained that over the summer, Blaine and his brother had been out on four-wheelers. He got into an accident on his and died. I remember the day being very surreal. He was so brand new to the school still that not too many people knew him, but he had made friends.

Jeremey Blazevich - When I attended Jeremey's funeral, my friend (his roommate) and I looked at each other and smiled. On the Memorial pamphlet, his name was printed with only 2 e's, not 3. Jeremey always made a point of telling people that his name had 3 e's in it. Jeremey always said his aura was purple. He was a beautiful artist, a great friend, and I was very glad to know him. He loved art, personal expression, life, and most of all, he loved his friends. He was an embarrassing S.O.B. sometimes, but it was all in good fun. You learned NEVER tell him your secrets because he'll tease you endlessly about it. He dubbed his friends "The Circle" and proclaimed that we were all beautiful. In a previous life, he was probably a flower child. But in the life I knew him in, he was someone who was bound and determined to make you enjoy life no matter what. Somewhere, in his collection of paintings, is a portrait of me. I haven't seen it but just thinking about it warms my heart to know that he thought that much of me to spend time on it--time he could have been spending on something different.

The day before he died, I was at their apartment watching a movie and spending time with them before Dave and I took a trip for the weekend. He came home from work looking extremely sick and very much like Death itself. He explained that he hadn't been sleeping well and was on medication for his cold. The very next night, I got a phone call at work from his roommate, telling me to get over to their apartment now. "Jeremey's dead!" she sobbed to me. I asked her if she was kidding. She claimed she wasn't and that she needed me. My boss let me go, and I was at their place right away, fuming because I was certain that she was kidding around and that when I got there, I was going to let the two of them have it for good for making stuff like that up. But, even more saddening, when I arrived, I saw about five police cars, an ambulance, the coronor, and a hearse. She was sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by her sisters and friends, sobbing. A police officer took her aside just to ask a few questions. Around 2 AM, I told her that our trip that weekend could be cancelled if she needed me to stay with her. She said she'd be fine but then turned to me and tearfully asked me to never leave her like this.

Jeremey loved to hear about our crazy dreams. I told him once about a dream I had where I was looking for a sharpened pencil but all I could find were brand new unsharpened ones. In my yearbook, he wrote, "I hope you find your sharpened pencil one of these days." (I also told him once about a dream about my music teacher, but that's another story... :grin: and one dream I WISHED I had never told him...)

I'm hoping to see him again soon. He was a terrific friend. He was very real. While everyone tended to pussyfoot around The Circle's obligatory drama queen, he almost found pleasure in telling her off sometimes. She would get mad, never speak to him again, and then a few days later, she's instantly his best friend.

Jeremey once told his roommate, my friend, that his father told him that the rule of being a man is: Men don't cry; they take out the garbage.

My uncle, Bruce C. Libby who died from heart attack complications in 1990. He was the calming influence for my aunt Karen's psychotic personality. He helped my grandfather hang a basketball hoop behind the work shed for all the vertically challenged kids in the family. When my grandfather measured it, he said "It's about 4 inches below regulation height." My uncle, without missing a beat, said "That's okay, so are the kids." His good nature was constantly taken advantage of by different people, but he never let that stop him from being the best person he knew how to be.

His daughter, Lena Libby was four years old when she died of Reye's Syndrome in 1974, two years before I was born. Hers was one of the first known cases of Reye's Syndrome. My only memory of her isn't mine at all. My grandfather once told me that he would take her to the store with him and buy himself a beer and her some candy. She would chant the whole way there and back. "Beer, beer, beer, candy, candy, candy. Grandpa gets his beer, beer, beer. Lena gets her candy, candy, candy."

I wish I had met her.

To my REAL Pop Pop. I miss you every day and wish you could see my boys. It's not genetically possible, but Lumpy is YOUR great-grandson all the way.

To Damien, who was there when I needed him.

To Uncle Chuck. You were gone before I got here, but I think you've been here all along.

There are others who have gone before. Even without mentioning your names, trust that I do think about you.

Major Dogs, Captain Barnes, LCpl. Guajardo and Cpl Tsoris were killed the day before Mother's Day in 1997. HMM-164 was on board the USS Peleliu off the coast of California preparing for their upcoming WESTPAC. The helicopter was taking off from the deck of the Juneau when it was bumped into the ship's antenna and crashed into the ocean. There were no survivors.

The following is from Naval Aviation News, July 1997:

Four members of Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 164, based at MCAS El Toro, Calif.,were presumed dead after their CH-46E Sea Knight crashed following takeoff from Juneau (LPD10) off California on 10 May 1997. Pilot Maj. Dennis A. Dogs, copilot Capt.Paul D. Barnes, aerial observer LCpl. Rodolfo Guajardo and crewchief Cpl. Michael J. Tsoris were killed.

Hazel Pedersen and Ruby Goman-Black
 

Both my Mom's grandmothers. I remember them rather vividly, but for the most part, its the stories passed down from my grandparents, and my Mom and Aunt.

Hazel Pedersen was my Grandpa's mother, who took no flack from people trying to cheat her, yet loved nonsense and silly foolishness with children. She also had a heart made of gold and honey. She and Grandpa Harvey owned a house in Portage, WI where they housed my grandparents and their two daughters, and Grandma Ruby, who was my Grandma's mother. Along with her husband, they ran a local ice cream shoppe called The Super. It became a hard and fast tradition that no meal was complete without ice cream. You have to do something with that left over ice cream from the shoppe, right?

Hazel and Harvey had two children: Gerald (my grandpa) and Donna. Donna died of lung cancer when I was about 2 or 3, so I hardly remember her. But, Iv'e been told that I have an eerie resemblance to her. I've seen her picture and it's kind of frightning how similar we look.

Hazel's values were old fashioned. Be kind to your neighbor, even if you don't know him. She fed hobos and bums who would stop along the train tracks near their house. They knew that if they simply behaved themselves, they would get something to eat. But if they gave her trouble, she would call the police and that would be the end of it.

Hazel and Harvey have been part of many of the milestones in our Faith. One day, nearly 70 years ago, two full-time door-to-door preachers called Bible Students (what Jehovah's Witnesses used to call themselves) stopped by their house. Grandma listened to their message and asked them to come back later to talk some more. The neighbors didn't like it that she had talked to the two preachers, so just to show them, Grandma Hazel began studying with them, and before everyone knew it, she, Harvey and her own two children were the pioneers of a brand new congregation in Portage, WI. Because there were no places to meet for worship, they gave their downstairs living room as a meeting place for a long time. Over time, they had the pleasure of seeing our Faith be recognized as an official religion, have had to fight for our religious rights.

Sadly, a heart attack claimed Grandpa Harvey's life just 2 weeks before their 60th wedding anniversary and in 1994, Hazel passed away after a long and hard life as an Alzheimer's patient.

Ruby Goman-Black: Sadly, what I remember of her was an old woman who didn't like me very well. She hated her son-in-law (Grandpa Gerry) but loved my Dad. I remember Mom telling me about times when she and my Aunt would stay at her place and watch American Bandstand, or how they would go to the movies. She sat through "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World" five times in a row just for her two granddaughters. She let Erik get away with anything, but often scowled at me for sitting on the couch and doing nothing. I remember Skip-Bo games and dinner up at her apartment. She was well known in the family for being the worst cook imaginable. True story, she bought a bag of cookies and when she got them home, she filled a bowl with them and served her guests. Even the cookies were bad. She died in 1989 from heart failure at the age of 88.

I'm in tears reading these lovely tributes. This is a wonderful idea.

KaKa. My wonderful aunt Etta Fay. She died suddenly on July 7, 2005, taking a piece of my heart with her. She was a gentle, loving soul who brightened the lives of everyone around her. I'll never stop crying for her, everytime I see a Big Mac, an old gameshow, a $2 bill, a state quarter, the Dukes of Hazzard, a ceramic bird. All things I associate with her. I know she's home with God, and her beloved parents. Thanks for letting me remember her to you.

Also, wonderful grandparents:
Millard and Etta Stanfill
Pat and Irene Burk

Great great-aunts:
Rotela July
Vona Stultz

Beloved pets:
Cupid
Boogie
China
Trixter
Thumper
Midnight
Brownie
and many more! I loved them all!

To:

~Gust Helander, Dave's Gramps.
~Great Aunt Myrt, the silly old lady who loved her grand-niece and swore that Norway was Utopia on Earth.
~Great Aunt Dorothy, the even sillier old lady who called my parents at 2 AM to let them know that Carolyn Jones of the Addams Family was the one to start the Hippie Movement because of her long hair. She died and Old Maid who had loved once, and when it turned sour, she never loved another man again.
~Great Uncle Ted, whom I never knew but heard A LOT about.
~Louis and Lillian Hoffman, my great grandparents. I never knew Lillian, but Louis used to get a kick out of teasing me.
~Simon, the three-legged cat who adopted us, even Dad who didn't like him, and never ceased to entertain with his antics.
~Sebastian Hoye, Aunt Reesy's first Corgi. Very troubled dog but a very sweet and loveable boy.
~Rollo Aylesworth, a very kind friend of the family.
~Wanda Gugleman, a very shallow but dear friend who died from a brain tumor.
~Sinbad, Maynerd, Dolly, Sugar, Freddie, Reggie, Jiggs, Skippy, Chelsea, Buttons, Ting, Ginger, all the Tobys, Bartholomew, Robin Hood and Maid Marian, George and Gracie, Radar, Princess Leia, and Kotchka...these cats, dogs, gerbils and goldfish have graced our family and will live on in memories and photos. (The goldfish, Bartholomew, was Erik's first pet and he loved and cared for it. When his gerbils died, he wanted to bury them in some Norwegian jewelry boxes that my Dad's cousins sent over. Needless to say, Mom and Dad brought that one to a screeching halt.)

My grandma, Mildred Allen, 1905-1995. Grandma was aloways interested in us, her only grandchildren for 14 year (she later had 2 more); she always said my mom should write down all the funny and cute things we said and did (and she thought we did a lot of cute and funny things :) ). Because of her, we always felt special. My dad was in the Army and we traveled a lot sometimes only getting to visit her once a year, but those times were always special.

She made a twin-size quilt for each of us (8) when we were children (she did lot of quilting for other people also, so the quilt frame was almost always set up at her house); then she made a quilt for each of us when we grew up - full-size. she made baby quilts for the first 5 great-grandchildren before she became unable to see well enough to do it, and even a quilt for her oldest granddaughter (my daughter)'s hope chest. She loved to think up little nicknames for us and to tell stories of her own, my mother's and my aunt's childhood.

When my dad retired and we moved back to the hometown, she always invited us out to her house for one week (by ourselves!) in the summer time - the only time we could be the only child! I even went for a week the summer I got married. Grandma herself was an only child, and she always felt we were so lucky to have each other. Of course we didn't appreciate each other then. When I was older and had my own children to care for, as well as working full-time and managing a house, I didn't see my grandma as often as I felt I should. I still regret that. But she never lost her interest in me and in my children, as well as her other great-grandchildren when they came along.

She lived for her first 85 years in a house without running water or central heating, and ran a farm after her husband died in 1950. The farm was never lucrative (AFAIK), but she held onto it with a tenacity that I admire greatly. At age 85 she had a heart attack and when she got out of the hospital she went to love with my parents. She had several scary bouts with congestive heart failure before the doctor told her and my mom that Hospice was her best healthcare option. Hospice was a godsend. She loved to have visitors and adopted the Hospice nurses, aides, and pastoral associates. I'm convinced they gave her at least 3 more years than she would have had. Her mind was sharp, and she was able to get around in the house right until a day or two before she died. I love her and am so glad my children had a chance to know her at least for a few years.

My mother-in-law, Mary Etta Newton, 1925-1995. Mom was a wonderful person who loved me dearly and I loved her too. She drove a school bus for 19 years, and her favorite children were the teenage boys she drove to the vocational school every day. She loved flowers and had a magic touch with all kinds of houseplants, especially African violets; she also cultivated hybrid tea roses. She loved to play Bingo, and at one time had quite a collection of bingo good-luck charms! She loved to cook, and never could tell you exactly how much of anything to put in a recipe -"until it looks right/ tastes right" was her method :) . No one can exactly duplicate her famous meatloaf with tomato gravy (my husband's favorite) but I do make her chocolate pie and I have her pumpkin pie recipe (it's not baked, but cooked on top of the stove and poured into the pie pan). She dearly loved her (8 or so) younger brothers and sisters, as wel as her 7 children and her 13 grandchilren and 2 stepgrandchildren who came later; she loved all of her children's spouses and they loved her; two ex-sons-in-law came to her funeral.

I love her and think of her often.

:hug::hug: to all of you who've lost loved ones. Your tributes are just beautiful.

For...

Carol Synnott - She was the youngest daughter of my dad's oldest friends. Their whole family is like an extended one for mine. They have 8 kids and their first set of kids (the first 6) were born from 1958 - 1966 and then me and my siblings fit in there 1968 - 1973 and then Carol and Jim come in on the end at 1975 and 1977 (I think).

Carol was one of those cute, blonde girls, happy, lovely, perky and fun. We used to play together as kids and I know after I became an adult, whenever we'd come over to visit her parents, she'd plop right in the living room to talk with us rather than going out to do her own thing.

She wanted to be a missionary pilot overseas and was attending school to further that career when she was killed in a car accident at her university.

I don't know how many people came to the memorial service down there, but I heard it was in the thousands.

Her faith is what she was known for and I guess God wanted her home early. But I still miss her a lot and wish He'd seen fit to let her stay longer.

For...

Daniel Sutherland - (1904-1999) - My beloved grandpa. Teller of stories, doter of grandchildren.

When I was born, he sent a letter, as he was wont to do, in his neat, block printing, addressed to "Dear Miss Susan, Danny, Joe and Karen" and proceeded to tell me it wasn't every day a man could welcome his granddaughter into the world and he was so glad that he could.

He had the best sense of humor and was always doing crazy, fun things that he'd tell stories about - like the time he and his friends decided they needed to go to the rodeo, but didn't have enough money to do it, so they decided to sell my grandfather's new suit (which he was wearing) to a pawn shop in order to get money and pretended he was deaf and would "translate" to him with sign language about what the pawnshop owner was saying.

He was incredibly loyal. You couldn't say a word against his wife, his three children, children-in-law or four grandkids. Not even if you were one of them.

He gave me a love and appreciation for the great state of Colorado because that was HIS home.

And no matter when I saw him, his whole face would light up, his arms would open wide and he'd hug you like there was no tomorrow. I wish he could do that for me right now.

I love you, Grandpa.

Cecilia Sandine - (1915 - 1999) How does one describe Ceil Sandine? Maybe the best story is from when she was 4 years old and had eaten a whole slew of bananas. My great-aunt (her sister) said, "If you eat another banana, you'll burst." My grandmother calmly held out her hand and said, "Give me the banana and stand back."

And that was how she lived her life. She had so many friends of all different ages (she had friends she regularly visited who were a couple years older than I was!). She loved to entertain and did crazy things for parties. My mom said she used to celebrate every holiday - from George Washington's birthday to Christmas.

She took my sister and me on a progressive dinner - from one restaurant to another - she was the grandma who took us to the amusement parks, cooked a full fancy meal with crystal and served it on an ironing board, and served her visiting friend a winning hand of cards in Pit.

She had this delicious sense of humor - she didn't like my cousin's bandana and, instead of arguing with him, she put some ribbon with a dangling thing in her own hair and was ready to go into the mall with it on. He took it off. ;)

She came to take us to church one day, fully dressed except for her dress. ;)

And when she saw my sister's pierced nose, she took off one of her huge clip-on earrings and stuck it into her own nose until my sister noticed and began to laugh.

Everything I remember about her had to do with laughter. She was the best grandmother you could imagine. And her four grandkids adored her.

I miss her every day.

I love you, Gram. I hope you're making Heaven as fun as intriguing as you did Earth. Give Grandpa a hug for me.

Betty Reimer: died when I was 5 years old and she was my favorite grandma. I remember her hugs and her smiles and wish I had had more time with her. She was my mom's mother and she died while still in her 40's.

Alfred Reimer: My mom's dad- he adopted her when she was 4, after marrying Grandma. He died when my oldest son was only 4 months old. He never got to meet his first great-grandson. Something happened to Grandpa when Grandma died. He stayed away from my Mom and didn't see her very much. He also died young, only in his 50's.

Sean McIntyre: I will never forget this boy even though we weren't close friends. He shot himself days before our Sophomore year of high school ended. He was a clown, maybe even a trouble maker, since he liked to be a clown in class. He had a girl friend, lots of friends and a family.
I think about him often because he was the last person I would have ever thought to have done that. He took a rifle and told his Mom he loved her and left the house.

Joe Peters: He was my ex-boyfriend. This man hurt me more than anyone ever has and I still never wished this for him. He died 10/25, drug & alcohol poisoning. He had just turned 45 two weeks before this. I find it to be such a waste. He always seemed such a tortured soul, and I pray he has found his peace.

My furry friends:
Honey Bun: The very first dog that was all mine. I had just gotten married and we visited a friend whose dog had puppies. I fell in love with her. She was Daschund, beagle, & something else mixed. A small dog, who very quickly became my child.
She was there with me to comfort me when I struggled with becoming pregnant for 3 years. The night I went in to give birth to my first child- she blew a disk in her back and was paralyzed when my husband returned home.
A very hormonal new mother gave the OK to have surgery performed on my little Bunny, and $600 later, she was still paralyzed. We made the very difficult decision to put her down after the vet recommended it. She had no bladder function and would be prone to infections.
I have always thought that she had been sent to me from God- as someone to love as a child until I could have my own.

Molly: It took me a little while to warm up to the idea of another pet. Molly was a Golden Retriever. I saw the ad. She was my dream pet and I called and we got her. But, I never really allowed myself to love her. Not like Bunny.
The night I told my ex husband I wanted a divorce, he pulled a gun on me. I ran out of the house, not knowing if I was going to feel a bullet in the back of my head or not. Molly was on my heels the whole time I ran. At first I was afraid she'd let him know where I was, and I yelled at her to go back. But she followed me.
When I got to the neighbor's house to call my family,she sat on the step outside and waited for me.
When my family arrived to get me, she waited until I came out and then proceeded to fall into step with me, right into the car.
That night, after I had gotten my kids back from my ex- Molly slept at my feet at my parent's house on the pull out couch. When my Mom got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, Molly stood up and growled ferociously for the first time ever. She became my true friend from that moment on.
She was such a gentle dog that my youngest baby crawled over to her and layed his head down on her side while she was laying down. He fell asleep there and she didn't move until he woke up again.
It broke my heart to watch her struggle with arthritis years later. I will never forget her laying on the floor unable to get up to go outside. I sat down that day and had a talk with her I told her I loved her and would never forget her. My sister and mother took her in to be put down, then brought her home to bury her. I often put flowers on her grave and tell her we all miss her two years later.

And lastly, we lost Wyatt. He was a golden retriever/chocolate lab mix. Beautiful dog! We lost him when he was just 11 months old. He got sick with Parvo, but because he was vaccinated for it, we didn't think that was what it was. The vet had me try several things including resting his upset stomach and taking his water away for 8 hours. I had gone to reintroduce his water, and found him dead on the floor.
I buried him next to Molly and promised him she'd take good care of him. When my kids cried for a new puppy, I relented and got Baxter. He was only 7 weeks old and after being in our house for 6 days, he also had Parvo. I called the vet and they tried to get me to try things- I flat out refused and told them Wyatt had died 3 months earlier from the same thing.
I took Baxter to the vet and he spent several days on an IV but I saved him. I just wish I had not waited so long for Wyatt.

My brother Tommy, 1967-1989. Tommy was the youngest in our family, nearly 12 years younger than I. I always thought of him as a little boy, as I was married when he was only 7 years old. At the time that he died, I didn't feel that I knew him very well. He loved my children adn always like to visit with them. He made some bad choices in his teen years and my husband didn't like him, but he had gotten back into college and was doing really well. When he was killed by a hit and run driver just before Thanksgiving, so many of his friends and even professors came to the funeral home from college that I was quite overwhelmed. I wish I had taken the time to know him better.

Since Tommy died, our family has been closer and we almost always hug and kiss each other when we part, which we never did before. Before, we took each other for granted. Now we know that life can be snuffed out in an instant.

For the family I never got to know and wished I had...

Clifford Sandine
Helen Sutherland
Grace and Frank Lynch
Rubena Sutherland
Daniel and Rubena Sutherland
Julia Sandine
Hilmer and Rosa Sandine
Rudy Sandine
Tim Cleaver
Buddy Sandine
John and Elesif Ling
Jonas and Carin Sandine

For my family that's passed in the last few years...

Doris Sandine Brown
Betty Nelson
Gerry Sandine
Berit Karlsson
Hans Ling
Harry Karlsson

Thank you for giving me a heritage of love, of family and of faith. You are appreciated and loved more than you will ever know.

and for our little Whiskers who gave my Grandma a companion when she needed one and my great-uncle a long-time friend. Little did we know what a gem a non-dog family would get in you.

And for Bagel, my sister's dog...she still misses you and loves you and wishes you could have met Miss Emma.

My mother, Ellen
 

My Aunt Gladys
 

For Paul Maurer...

He was a local fire fighter who, when I first saw him, would come and give the fire safety assemblies at school when I was a kid. I remember him specifically, for some weird reason, as much as I remembered Dick Van Dyke's warnings and my little brain wrapping around the idea that I HAD to have a ladder to get out of my upstairs room in the event of a fire.

Later, I found that he was the father of a girl who became my best friend in high school.

My parents were going through a nasty divorce all during my high school years. Her family basically adopted me. I spent a ton of time with them...they took me places, let me come early to their house in the morning so I didn't have to switch schools, fed me, carted me around...basically were a second set of parents to me all during high school.

He died last fall of lung cancer - probably a combination of his pipe smoking and the many years of serving our little town as a fire fighter.

And it was like losing my second dad.

For a gangly, awkward teenager who had a very mixed-up, tumultuous relationship with her own father, he was a God send.

You're missed so much. Thank you for all you did to make my life a little easier. I wish I'd told you how much that meant to me.

I can't write beautiful tributes like so many of you, but today I'm remembering:

~Henrietta Buddingh (my "Grandma B")
~Mamie Dykhouse (Tom's grandma)
~Russ Schurman (Tom's uncle)
~My SIL's baby, that we never had a chance to know

~Julie

Damon's grandpa
 

Virginia Rosenberg, who passed away in January 2002.

I first met my best friend's mother in 1990. We had gotten tickets to a Paul McCartney concert in Miami and drove down from NC to stay with Mrs. Rosenberg.

I got sun poisoning and she slathered me with aloe gel for two days.

In November 1992, several months after Ginna and Brian married, she had a aneurysm in her brain rupture. She survived the treatment, but was never again herself. When I would visit my mother in FL, I'd go to see her. After Ginna and Brian bought a house and fixed an apartment for her, I'd spend time alone with her whenever I visited.

My mother died one week after I moved to Washington. When I returned from the services, Mrs. Rosenberg hugged me and said (as she often did) "I don't know who you are, but I know that I love you and that you are important me."

Ten years after her aneurysm, she was hospitalized with kidney failure and congestive heart failure. She began to slip into a coma and the doctors told Ginna and her brothers that Mrs. Rosenberg's legs would have to be amputated if she were to have a chance to live, and there was still no guarantee. They agree to disconnect life support.

She raised three children on her own after her husband died when Ginna was six. She worked two jobs at a time, sometimes. And she knew just how to love even when her memories were gone.

Those who are dead are never gone:
they are there in the thickening shadow.
The dead are not under the earth:
they are there in the tree that rustles,
they are in the wood that groans,
they are in the water that runs,
they are in the water that sleeps,
they are in the hut, they are in the crowd,
the dead are not dead.

Those who are dead are never gone:
they are in the breast of the woman,
they are in the child who is wailing,
and in the firebrand that flames.
The dead are not under the earth:
they are in the fire that is dying,
they are in the grasses that weep,
they are in the whimpering rocks,
they are in the forest, they are in the house,
the dead are not dead.
-- Birago Diop


Halima Ouramdane
Janine Minnick
Leif Claire Thomas
baby Thwaites
Sean

and fur friends:
Princess Amanda
Hazel
Isabel

My remembrances
 

Lawrence Yeasted --My maternal grandfather who died in January 2003. He was a strong man with a strong opinion, but he left a legacy with all of his children (6) and grandchildren (16). He enjoyed life, but didn't take advantage of it. I remember one Christmas when I was in my 20s: My grandparents gave me my gifts, and one of them was a porcelin unicorn with shamrocks around its neck. My grandmother told me that "he" picked it out himself, and that it was the first gift he ever got for anyone besides her.
He was a tough critic but also our biggest fan. He told me once on a trip to the beach "I could relax and even shut my eyes when you drive." which was high praise from him. As the oldest grandchild, I know I had a special place in his heart. . .and I still miss him.

Terry Calligan My best friend's husband died of a brain tumor in April 1998. He was diagnosed in December 1997, and lived the rest of the months in a wheelchair with little ability to speak. We were able to visit with him on numerous occasions at home as we celebrated the life we had. Terry (and Mary Jo) taught me (again) the important lesson of living life as much as you can, and to take the time to love those around you.

Martha Harmon My hubby's mother. . .she died in December 1999--3 months after a I met Keith and before we were engaged. But, I met her once, and I am happy I was able to see her before she died, and that she knew who I was.

Others in my heart:

Frank and Anna Janicik (my paternal grandparents)
Marie Thimons (my great-grandmother)
Helen Santay, Frank Janicik, Tony Janicik (aunt and uncles on my Dad's side)
Baby Janicik (my mom had a miscarriage when I was 10 month old--I believe its the sister I never had)

My prayers open to all those who posted today and all those in your memory.

My maternal grandparents
 

Gustav Ahlf (1888-1971) and Florence Froehlich Ahlf (1889-1987).

My mother's parents were born and lived in the same small town all their lives. He was a member of the town's first high school graduating class. She had to drop out to nurse her mother. They raised three children, all of whom graduated college (and mother got a master's degree). Their seven grandchildren include an attorney, an engineer, a technical writer, a professor / analyst, a physical therapist, a banker, a teacher -- who live in CA, IN, PA, VA, and FL.

My grandfather was quiet with a sense of humor. Mommy said that, after she once told him that his eyes looked bluer when he wore a blue shirt, he always wore one when she came home from college. He had a "pet" pidgeon that he would feed on the back porch - there are pictures! He typed letters to my mother when she went to college, and used carbon paper so he could save copies for her. He claimed to hate their cat, but would sometimes stay home when everyone else went out, just so he could hold the cat. He worked for the local (now-defunct) furniture company for his whole career. In a group photo taken in the 1920s, and in the town's historical society museum, he appears in the left AND the right of the picture. While the camera scanned, he ran around to get into the end of the picture. He died when I was 7, so I have few memories of him. But my mother adored him. When my cousin's first child was stillborn, Mommy said that everyone in the family felt comforted that Grandpa was taking care of the baby in heaven.

My grandmother could be caustic, but loving. She believed that children shouldn't stare at the tv, so she ordered counted cross-stitch kits for me. Every Saturday night, from when I was 8 until 11, I would bicycle up to her house. We would have bacon and eggs and toast with home-made apple butter, then watch Wheel of Fortune (with Chuck Wollery!) and Lawrence Welk. She'd crochet and I'd cross-stitch. This is why, to this day, I cannot just sit and watch TV. She made a quilt and an afghan for each granddaughter. She made the best chili and fresh green beans. She was so proud of everything her grandchildren accomplished. I regret that, when I left for college, I didn't write to her or tell her about my adventures. She died my second semester there.

Dr. Frank and Daniel's birth family
 

I don't know his last name, but he was my mother's OB/GYN. She had very bad endometriosis and had a complete hysterectomy about a year after I was born. Dr. Frank was her doctor and knew how much she had wanted another child.

He had another patient at the same time, a woman who was considering placing her unborn child for adoption. He had my mother come in one day for an "appointment." The receptionist said her name loudly, asked her lots of "personal" questions," then brought her back into the office, where she left by a side door. One of the other women in the waiting room that day was Daniel's birth mother.

She must have liked what she saw, because Dr. Frank got the lawyers together and the papers signed. This was 1966, so I am certain Dr. Frank has passed on.

My mother never actually met Daniel's birth mother, and my family moved within a year of the adoption. Mommy often said she wished she could tell Dr. Frank and Daniel's birth family how much she appreciated the gift of Daniel.

I agree. Thank you, Dr. Frank and Daniel's birth family. I love my brother very much.

Family gone on before
 

George (1907-1991) and Bea Hoad (1907-1990) my maternal grandparents. You were always there for us and love us all so much. Always there if we needed to talk and taught us never to stop believing. Taught us love of family, love of God and love of country and love of the Cubs. I know how happy you'd be to know that the tradition is carried on and your daughter and me are as close as Nanny you and Mom were and Mom is the wonderful grandmother to my children you were and Poppa, you were right. Mom and Dad were destined to be together again and they are. You'd love Jon and the children so much and I wish you were here to see them but I know you are always with us and always will be.

Lillian (1907-1999) and Albert (1903-1972) Weiland: paternal grandparents. Granty you left us too soon but we will always remember you. Mimi you left just before seeing your dream of your grandkids all married with their own families come true but I know you see us from heaven. You taught me so much about life and to always make lemonade when given lemons. And I'll always remember ladies tea you, me, Pat Aunt Judy and Lori. You'd be happy to know we still do this once every couple of months. And I'll never cousins weekends another family tradition continued.

Allan Walldren (1934-1998) Stepfather: You came into my life in 1976 and I never quite had the right word for it but Demi Moore and Bruce Willis (ironically one of your favorite actors) kids came up with a great term "My other dad" You didn't take the place of Dad you took your place with Mom and Dad as one more positive, powerful influence in my life. You were the first family member to realize that Jon was "the one" for me. And I never would have graduated from high school then college near the top of the class without you.

Billy Bob Newmann (1990-2004) my beloved little dog. You were there beside me through so many hard days and were my best friend and companion much more than my dog. I'll see you on the other side of the rainbow bridge someday.

This thread has me in tears, and it's taken me all day to be able to post.

In loving memory:

Steven R. Bell 1951-2002
Dad was one of the constants in my life from the day I was born. I was blessed into a wonderful family that never failed in showing their love. He touched so many lives that his funeral was standing room only and he had 12 pallbearers. I can't even begin to touch on how he affected my life. From teaching me to ride a bike, play ball, or drive a car - he was always there with his patience and guidance. Even now, almost four years after his passing, I can hardly think (I mean really think) about him without tearing up. I can mention him or think about him in passing, but if I actually start to remember something or think hard about something I miss, I shut myself off and force myself to think of something else to keep from having a cry-fest. Unhealthy? Maybe. But it still just hurts too much to fully open up.

Dad - I'll always love you and miss you. As I said the last time I laid eyes on you, I'll always be "Daddy's Little Girl". Thank you for everything.

Michael Thurston–2014
Bubby - I hadn't seen you much these last couple of years. But I will always cherish the fact that I got to see you less than a week before your passing. That simple thing has given me so much peace. I hope you and Papa are finally together again.

Kenneth Bell - 2001
Uncle Kenny - I'm so glad to have been part of your life. You and Dad were so much alike, and I thought it would kill him when you left us. I truly believe the two of you are Brothers in Heaven now.

Kathy Bell - 1998
Aunt Kathy - You died such a tragic death that sometimes it's still hard to believe. After watching you struggle with so many issues in life, I hope you have peace now.

Thomas Thurston - 1995
Papa - I'll never forget you. You were the first person to pass whom I was close to. Rest in peace atop your beautiful final resting place.

D. LaRee Cummings, my paternal grandmother who died in November 2001. She was truly a lady to everyone she met. Her unboundless capacity for love included anybody who married into her family. I missed her funeral because I was on bed rest with baby #2 but I know she preferred the health of my son to my attendance at her service -- that's just the way she was. I will always be glad I took the extra time to visit her the month before she died.

Victor K. Cummings, my paternal grandfather. He died in October 2002. We honestly believe he just couldn't face life without his bride of 57 years. My grandfather is still an amazing influence in my life. Many, many times I catch myself thinking "Would Grandpa be proud of me if I did or didn't do this?". Although he loved unconditionally, I know am a much better person living up to his expectations.

These are partial words of an eulogy that I read at my grandfather’s funeral on January 6, 2004.

There was a man. His name was Paw-Paw, at least to me it was.

Others know him as Dad or Buck or Mr. Staton. But to me, he’s Paw-Paw. My mom & my uncle have memories of him as their Dad, & others have memories of him as a brother & as a friend. But I have memories of him as Paw-Paw. I am 1 of his 5 grandkids, the oldest of 4 girls & 1 boy, & my sister’s & my cousins’ memories of him are probably even different than that of my own... But let me tell you about my Paw-Paw.

He taught me about Patriotism.

Fourth of July was homemade ice cream & watermelon. He never forgot the watermelon. Each time we'd gather at his house to celebrate, he’d tell me, “Wendy, I got the watermelon!” because he knew that I liked watermelon as much as he did. Fourth of July also meant flying your flag with pride. Did you know that my Paw-Paw fought in WWII? He did. And he was proud to do it. Being an American meant something special to him, & Paw-Paw was devoted to his duty whether he was fighting a war in Europe or working hard every day to provide for his family. He worked with a steady, dogged dedication & loyalty. He supported his country by voting whenever there was an election. He loved wearing an American flag on his lapel & displaying a flag decal on his car. When I started driving, he made sure I had one for my car too. When he stood up with his hand on his heart whenever our National Anthem played, I saw the pride shining in his eyes.

Paw-Paw wasn’t nationally known or recognized. He was just an ordinary citizen with an ordinary life, but I’ve come to realize that it’s the quiet ordinary man like him that helps make our country what it is.

He taught me about Generosity.

Those of you who know my Paw-Paw know how giving he was. Every summer he planted a garden & loved to share its bounty. After I got married, Jason & I came home so many times to find a sack of home-grown tomatoes hanging from our front door knob. Whenever he mowed his yard, he'd also mow his neighbor’s yard. I can remember the Christmases when he'd collect canned goods for charity. There was a little boy who lived across the street from him, & every Christmas, he made sure that he had a little toy for the boy.

He remembered people. Paw-Paw always asked me about the people we knew & how they were doing. He liked to do things for people. If he found out you needed something, he’d find a way to help. You didn’t have to ask him. And I’m sure that there are many others that I don’t even know that were touched in some way by his giving nature. He had a generosity of spirit & a servantlike attitude that is not easily surpassed.

He would be anywhere that you needed him to be. He would do anything that you needed him to do. And he made us all feel special to him.

He taught me about Family.

Once when I was little, I packed my bag to run away from home. I was running to Paw-Paw & Granny’s house. Their house wasn’t big, but it was special. Looking back, I don’t know how, but, each holiday, all 6 adults managed to fit around the tiny table in their small kitchen. We kids sat at the traditional “kids’ table” in the adjoining room. But we were all there. And how much fun it was the year my cousin Jennifer & I got to move to the “adult” table where Paw-Paw & Granny had made room for us.

There was always room.

There were always empty mayonnaise jars to collect lightning bugs in. And special treats in the kitchen. And strawberries to pick in the garden.

He had an old tree swing in the back yard for us. I loved that swing, &, after we got too big for swings, I asked if I could have it. I wanted to remember.

There are so many things that I do remember about him. He was so good with his hands. He made us wooden jewelry boxes & little benches for our teddy bears. Once, I collected Dr. Pepper cans so he could make Jason an airplane out of the cans. How proud I was to say that it was my Paw-Paw who built the concession stand, the ticket booth, & bleachers for our school’s new gym.

Before I had my learner’s permit, Paw-Paw took me for driving lessons in an old grocery store parking lot. Granny sat in the back & said, “Slow down!”, &, as I drove over the curb, Paw-Paw said, “She’s doing fine, Willene.”

We were always “doing fine” with him. He was proud of each one of us.

When we played sports, when we were in homecomings, when we had plays or recitals, we only had to look up in the stands, not only would we find our parents, but also Paw-Paw & Granny.

He never forgot a birthday, & how sweet it is now to look back through the many greeting cards & see words to me written by his & Granny’s hands.

After I had my wisdom teeth taken out, Paw-Paw brought me flowers. Those flowers were so precious to me – even more so than those from my boyfriend.

I knew family was special to Paw-Paw. He loved us. And he told us he did. And he showed us that he did – in so many ways. Family was important to him, & we all felt loved.

He taught me about Love.

I could go on & on about how much he loved us. That’s what grandparents do. But he also taught me about love in how he loved my grandmother. Granny never drove a car. Every Friday, he'd take her grocery list & go do the shopping for her. Every day, he called her from work to ask how her day was going. Every Saturday, he'd take her out to eat at their favorite restaurant. Every spring, he planted flowers for Granny. He planted petunias for her by the patio, rose bushes by the driveway, azalea bushes by the sidewalk, & the entire first row of his garden was always brightly colored flowers for Granny. He took care of her & loved her with a gentleness & quiet strength that was beautiful to see & so infinitely wonderful to have been a part of as a grandchild.

When she was sick & in the nursing home, he drove an hour every day to sit with her. She had Alzheimer’s & didn’t know that he was there, but he went just the same to be w/ his Willene. He made a picture collage of all of us to hang in her room. Before he left, he'd tuck her underneath her favorite quilt that he'd made sure to bring her. Every day, as he'd brush her hair & spoon-feed her meals, he'd quietly whisper their lovestory to her. There are 2 pictures that hung in their house – one of him in his military uniform & the other of Granny w/ her long blonde hair. He is handsome, & she is beautiful. And I like to think of them that way.

He taught me about Jesus.

Each morning, he'd sit down in the living room & read his Bible. If I were there, I’d peek from around the corner & watch him as he’d close his Bible & then bow his head & a pray. I can still hear his voice as he’d pray out loud at meals or in church. Many times, I sat w/ Paw-Paw & Granny in church. Paw-Paw had peppermint candy in his pocket, & he’d rattle the change in his pocket getting the candy out.

Paw-Paw loved his church. I saw how he gave to the church. He helped cook for the various banquets & dinners. He loved being a part of whatever was going on. He showed me how being a part of a church was special. By his life, I knew that God was important to him, & I am so thankful now knowing that Paw-Paw is with his Saviour. He’s with the God who wrote the Bible that he read & to whom he prayed.

~~~~~

When I think about Paw-Paw, there are so many things that I do remember - - the corn bread that he ate w/ his supper every night, his light blue Impala that seemed huge to me, the sweet potatoes that he loved so much he'd eat them for dessert, the garden that he grew every summer... After Granny became sick, he decided he needed to learn to cook, & what fun he had trying out new recipes on us like his potato-cheese casserole or orange gelatin salad. He was continually in a learning mode, soaking up all kinds of new things, & he loved to read. I can't pick up a Louis Lamour book w/o thinking of him. Whenever I watch the Atlanta Braves play baseball I can’t help but think of him. When I hear gospel singing, I think of him. And I like to think of the adventures he had – whether it was taking us fishing or taking Granny to Hawaii or driving cross-country to California w/ his friend. Paw-Paw enjoyed life, & he liked to take part in the lives of those around him.

Paw-Paw was a son, a brother, a soldier, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a friend, a worker, a gardener, a learner, a giver, a doer, a carer, & a lover of Jesus.

But I suppose I could sum up all my thoughts, feelings, & memories of Paw-Paw with just two words – Faith & Heritage.

He was a faithful man – to his country, his family, his wife, his church, & his God.

And he gave me a heritage of that faithful devotion that I can pass down to my children. Although, he’s now in Heaven, he is still with me. I see the legacy of Paw-Paw in my mother & in my uncle. And I hope that there is a small part of my Paw-Paw in me as well. I am blessed to have had him as a part of my life, & I am proud that he was my grandfather.

And, so, I tell my children, “There was a Man. His name was Paw-Paw.”

In Loving Memory
 

My grandfather, Fred, who died in 1990. My grandmother, Myrtle, who died in 2001. I miss you both very much.

My paternal grandparents, Frank and Gladys, who died when their pickup was hit by a train in 1963. I wish I had the chance to sit and talk with you. You would be very proud of your sons.

My assorted great- aunts and uncles....Uncle Mel, Aunt Madeline, Aunt Pearl, Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Max, all of the Barrett Aunts and Uncles.

Lucy Coyne-- The 4th grade is not the same without you.

Kris Kluck--who was shot and killed when we were nine....I miss you and wish I could see who you would have grown up to be.

Mamie--who just died on Oct. 1. I should have come back to Fargo to see you again. I'm sorry I didn't make it. I love you.

SHE'S HOME AT LAST

Safe Home at last! Oh say not she has died.
Her soul has only crossed the swelling tide,
And Heaven's gates for her have opened wide.
She's Home at last!

A true and valiant warrior of the Faith,
Proclaiming Christ even with her last breath,
Has laid her armour down... Call it not death.
She's Home at last!

She now beholds, with eyes undimmed by tears,
The face of Him who through the passing years,
Has been her stay, dispelling doubt and fears.
She's Home at last!

And though her going leaves a void within
Our lonely hearts, we can rejoice with her,
Her race is run, Heaven's glory she hath seen.
She's Home at last!

At Home, with those on earth she loved so well,
Who now within the walls of jasper dwell,
Oh bliss beyond all mortal pow'r to tell!
She's Home at last!

Life's sun for her has set-but oh the glow
That long will linger o'er this world of woe,
Because she lived and laboured here below!
She's Home at last.

A precious, precious friend sent me this poem just after losing my precious mother and I read it out at her funeral. It was as if it had been written just for her. Nine months tomorrow mam and the pain is still as raw. You missed your mum from the day you left England in 1970 until the day you left us. I know that you are free of pain now and you can walk without help. But dear ma I miss you still and I know I never will stop missing you until the day we are again reunited.I want to be the mother to my kids that you were with us.
I love you beautiful lady.

For my dad, Robert Bell Cooper, who died 9 years ago tomorrow. He was the kindest person I know. Everyone loved being around him, he had a great sense of humor. Had the largest funeral procession the funeral home had ever seen! He had stomach cancer and chose to have an operation to remove a large tumor that was growing up his esophagus. His doctors said he was young and it was the best chance to give him some more years. He died about 2 months after the surgery, and while I won't go into it, it wasn't peaceful. We never had the chance to say goodbye, I didn't even make it to the hospital to see him before he went into a coma. He was so incredibly brave, never complained.

I still miss him so much. I wish my girls could have known him. He would have had so much fun with them and would be a great grandpa. He was the greatest person I know. I feel like I didn't appreciate him as much as I should have But when he was in the hospital for the surgery I would relieve my mom at the hospital in the evenings and we would talk a bit, just the two of us. I would ask what I could do and he would always ask me to just hold his hand. I treasure that memory and am thankful for those quiet times we spent together in spite of the situation.

Daddy, I love you so much. I hope you can see your beautiful grandchildren and know that we think of you all the time and miss you very much. I can't wait to hug you again. I'm so so proud of you.

And for my Ranger, my wonderful shepherd/lab/chow mix who was put to sleep 5 years ago at the age of almost-8. You'll always be my first "baby". We love you and miss you. I hope you have lots of Zooms and are snuggling with them.

And for someone I didn't know too well, Debbie Weese. I admired her in junior high as a wonderful actress and singer and luckily got to know her a bit as an adult as her mother is best friends with my MIL. She was a wonderful mom and always had a bright outlook, upbeat, making you smile. She died too young from cancer and her parents are in a court battle with her husband for rights to visit her two very young boys. Debbie, I pray for your parents and your children and hope that the boys can see their grandparents again soon.

What lovely words you all have written. I wish for each of you the peace of knowing that, although your loved ones are no longer with you physically, they will always be in your heart.

I wish to honor:

My great-grandmothers - Great Grandma Draeger, who always let the great grandkids fight over who got to stand next to her at the dining room table and jiggle her arm. Great Grandma Connor, who liked that "that nice Bill Cullen came to visit us every afternoon".

My grandparents - Barney and Esther Draeger...Grandpa would rock all us babies in "his" chair and he could be snoring away, but he knew if you turned the tv channel. Grandma made the best chicken noodle soup - and taught me how to make the homemade noodles.

Tee and Nellie Causin...who died 3 weeks apart from each other. Grandma got sick first and I will always believe that Grandpa willed himself to die before she did. He said, "If Ma's gonna die, I might as well die, too."

Mom's sister, Donna Roy
Dad's brother, Tommy Draeger

In memory of my grandparents, Raymond and Ruth Brown, my paternal grandparents Robert and Cora Armstrong, my great Uncle Charlie and my Aunt Margie.

And for my mother, Judith Armstrong, who passed away on March 13, 1997 at the age of 57 from cancer. Every day that goes by, I still am touched by the loss of my mother. I am still so sad that she did not get to see my wedding and most of all that she never got to meet her granddaughters. I know without a doubt that she would have been a permanent fixture at my house once the girls came along. I see all of my friends parents enjoying the time with their grandchildren and I grieve for the memories my girls will never have.

The girls tell people that MamMaw Judie is in heaven and that she is their Guardian Angel. I know in my heart that is the truth. It still hurts every day not to have her here. My life will definately never be the same.

I wish peace to all of you who have lost someone you love. :hug:

Beverly June Poncia Cardoza (1931-2005): My mother died in July of congestive heart failure. She was a woman who lived life the way she wanted to, regardless of what other people thought. She always said what she meant and meant what she said. She taught my sister and I to be strong women (and complained when we exercised that strength we used it to stand up to her :veg: ). She also taught us by example how to recognize a good man. She married two, and even though she divorced my sister's father, she wouldn't have denied he was a good man. She loved her grandchildren without reservation. And I found out in recent years that she knew how to whistle the bob-white whistle. What a discovery!

Diana

I started reading at 7:00 this morning, and had to stop because I didn't want to go to work with swollen, red eyes. I just finished reading all of these beautiful memorials, and had to add a few of my own.

Clara Mabel Gibson, my paternal great-grandmother. Grandma Mabel never minded when I picked her flowers, or dug up her radishes. She was always a sweet lady with a ready lap for rocking, and a cookie in the kitchen. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized what a strong woman she was--she divorced a philandering husband and raised six kids on her own -- in the 1930's!

Richard Dale Burtle Grandpa. A WWII Veteran and former POW of Dachau, he hid what had happened to him until near the end. He suffered from congestive heart failure, yet his heart was the last thing to fail. He loved me for who I was, and encouraged me to reach for EVERY star. He died in 1996, a year before Olivia was born. She has his eyes.

Ellen Elizabeth Ash Russell John's Grandma. A farm girl who met her dream man on a slow boat to China, and helped him build an empire (well, a little one). She accepted me into her family, despite my dislike of fresh tomatoes. John and I were very close to her, and she loved our girls like no other. Grandma Ellen died very suddenly in May of 2002. I regret only that I never had the chance to say goodbye.

Sandra Grace Alexander Russell Mom. Mother-in-Law only in name. She fought the cancer for more than three years, defying the odds and the doctors to eek out an extra year. The end, when it came in September, was peaceful and quiet. Remembering your laughter and love of life helps us go on each day, but nothing will fill the hole that your leaving left in our hearts and lives.

The Others.

Donald , Jeremy, Dana, Lisa, Luke and Douglas who all died much too young, from accidents beyond their control.
and,
Jason and Matt for whom life became too much.

Ruth Wruck: Mom's best friend for 50 years. She was always Aunt Ruth to me and my sister. She was more of an Aunt to me than any of my real ones. Aunt Ruth was one of those people (actually, her whole family is) who has more personality than any one person needs. She was petite, beautiful, and always assumed she could do anything she set her mind to. One day, she decided she wanted to paint, and she painted beautiful landscape portraits. The one thing she couldn't do: cut hair. Mom decided once during the 50's that she wanted her hair cut like Doris Day. Aunt Ruth said no problem with such confidence that Mom believed her. Wrong move. Aunt Ruth always gave this advice, "Walk into a room like you own the place and people will think you do".

Amelia Wilhemina Brazil Cardoza (1895-1938): My paternal grandmother, who died when my dad was a boy. She left 13 children. Women are usually the family members that carry on tradition and stories. I keenly feel the loss of my Portuguese grandmother.

Diana

I read the first page of this thread, and had to stop there, for now. Icry too easily, and feel too much.

I can't go into stories about why I miss those I will list here; it's just too hard.

I miss my Grandmere (my mother's mother), who died when I was 10. The other kids don't remember her, and some weren't even born yet. She was my only living grandparent.

I sorely miss my Mama. Being the oldest, I was allowed to share so many times alone with her, and have special memories my siblings don't have. She taught me love to love nature, animals (she had a special way with all animals), art & music, and most especially a love of books. Although I miss her, I know she is happier now than she was for much of her life.

My 3 week old brother Christopher, who never had the chance to grow up.

All the animals in my life. Starting with "my" first dog, Blackie, a beagle. Our family dog, Bear, a Chow Chow, who I swear, came to run beside me when I got a tingly feeling all over while walking alone at night. I was scared, then I heard him panting and saw him, running beside me, until we got to my driveway. It was only then, that I realised, he had been dead for 3 years. My first one-man dog, Laddie, my wonderful Irish Setter. I learned so much from him. I think of him often. My second one-man dog, a funny looking little mutt named Cinder, who died far too early. She was very special. Dogs that Mark & I have had, Shane, our Doberman, who thought he was a lap dog, Thorn,shepherd-husky mix, who was so friendly and sweet. My little Token, a token size mix of a dog, who had so much personality it oozed out of him. I have been very fortunate, for I had yet a third one-man dog, Dash, a cocker-terrier mix. She was so smart and loving, and I was her God, and I loved her so very much. Samson (Sammy), minature long haired dachshund, who lived to the ripe old age of 17, and thought he was a Doberman. Cricket, who was my birthday gift one year, but became Mark's first one-man dog. She worshipped the air he breathed, such a sweetheart. Button, my very first Westie, who could climb ladders, but needed help back down, who supervised anything we did, from leaf raking, roofing, cement work, shelf building; she made sure we did it right. She came home with us on a motorcycle, her cardboard box, squeezed between Mark & I. She always like motorcycles after that, and we called her our little motorcycle mama. China, my third westie, who did the ice cube dance, when she wanted one, in front of the fridge, and who would ONLY sleep on my pillow, with her body wrapped around my head, another special girl, who left all too soon. All my little puppy babies, who didn't make it. Rajette, one extremely special cat, who started out a short haired tabby, and after a year, turned into a long hair tortise shell girl, who would only come for her name, thought the roof was her domain, never strayed from our yard, played with the dogs, teased them, loved our tropical fish, and if you told her "no", she couldn't go there (top of the TV for example) after only being told once, would no longer go there. She was extraordinary, and spoiled me for all future cats; my vet said I'd never find another like her, she was right. These animals, all made my life better, richer, for having been a part of my life. I miss them deeply, still love them, and hope to see them one day, standing near my mother, waiting for me.

These are all special people and animals who have blessed my life with their goodness, intelligence and love, among other things. I have been very lucky.

Lourese

My mom, Catherine I Bennett (1915-1993). She always had to put her middle initial I in her name when she wrote it and made me promise it would be on her headstone (which it is). She was an older mom, as she had me when she was 36. At times embarrassing as the other moms were so young compared to her, and like Aleta’s mom, she became invisible and ignored me if I was in the stage of not wanting to be seen with my OLD parents. I was only child in a neighborhood of old ladies, and mom did her best to entertain me and painstakingly taught me to cook, sew, and to keep house. I had a very secure and loving home, and after I got old enough to come home from school and stay alone, she went back to work.

Oh we had our mother/daughter feuds to be sure and as her health declined – very hard of hearing (could hear deep voices better than high ones, which I have – seemed she could hear everyone but me and after countless repeating things, I would lose patience). Had a few operations last 15 years of her life, then her eyes went bad with cataracts and glaucoma and we battled that. Then she developed COPD and CHF and eventually lung cancer. Thank God for Home Health Care and Hospice. April 1, 1993 she very peacefully closed her eyes and slipped away and thankfully I was with her to see the serene peaceful “I’m OK now” look on her face right at that moment. That look has helped me ever since battle the intense grief you feel when you lose your mom.

My dad, Fred L Bennett (1904-1974) was an Older dad. He was 47 when I was born. Like mom, he was SO OLD compared to the other daddies. But I cherished him and miss him more than words can say. He fell over dead of a heart attack March 14, 1974. I was here at work when I got the call from mom and I can still remember the feeling of someone punching me in the stomach with a fist. And like April and her mom, it's hard cause I didn't get to say goodbye.

I remember him reading to me, and telling stories, and he taught me how to drive a stick shift, and took me trick-or-treating. One time when I was 3, it was raining, and I had dragged my bag. When we got home there was hole in it and I had losted my candy. He got another sack and he took me back out again.

I miss you both more than you’ll ever know. And thanks for giving me such a wonderful loving childhood.

Wade Allen Burnham, my Daddy. I had just turned 12 before he died. He's been gone 25 years and I miss him every day. I wish he could have walked me down the aisle, watched me graduate, seen his Grandchildren. I was Daddy's Girl but I quickly became the "I feel responsible for everyone now that he is gone" girl. I took care of Mom and my kid brother and sister. It became my job to watch over the family. I grew up fast that night...I became the caretaker that I am now.

Helga Leutner, my Mother in Law. Mom died 10 years ago, just as she was about to fly out and meet her first grandson. My husband took it very hard and stayed in Florida for more than a month. I flew same said Grandson out for his Grandmas funeral...so at least the rest of the family could meet him (He was just 9 months old) In some ways he is like the Grandma he never met. He has this little. stick out his tongue thing, when he is concentrating...his grandmas habit.

While I know that someday, we'll all be together again...you can't help but wish they were here~

Lucas and Matthew Burns, my second cousins who were stillborn in December 2001. She did everything she could to help them, but it just wasn't meant to be. We all love and miss them and wish we could have known them.

Richard Piascik, my high school history teacher. Tough, fair, determined, and generous, he gave each of his students just what he or she needed. He was a caring, loving, involved father to his two mentally handicapped sons.

He passed away just before I returned to New England, and I never had a chance to tell him how much he had influenced me. Here's to you, Mr. Piascik! Thank you for giving me confidence when I needed it most.

These tributes have been just lovely - I should know better than to read this at work.

Elizabeth Tornquist - my mother's mother. She was a character who loved adventure. Having lived through the Great Depression she was a master saver. Some of my favorite childhood memories are about reusing aluminum foil and scraping off the burnt bits of toast rather than tossing them (even if they were REALLY burned). In fact when my mom and step-dad were cleaning out her house when she moved to a nursing home they found boxes of things she had saved for decades - the best was a box of bits of string labeled "String too short to Save". She used all the money she'd saved in her life to travel as she got older. She went all over the world and Hong Kong was her favorite - she went there about 3 times.

Helen Grant - my dad's mother. I've just been recently learning what a hard life she had. She died about 5 years ago after fighting lung cancer for a long time. We (my sister and I) used to spend Christmas at her and Grandpa Joe's place every year. She loved all her kids and grand-kids so much. She had a great sense of humor. Every Sunday she and Grandpa would stop by our house with a box of Dunkin' Donuts. It was our favorite childhood tradition. After my mother and father divorced they worked really hard to still try and help out my mom until she met my step-dad.

Vikki Wilson - my aunt, my dad's younger sister. This one is still very raw as it happened October 8th of this year. Her life, as the minister at her funeral said, was a miracle. She fought of cancer twice before (breast and lung) but couldn't beat it this time. She was very tough and independent. She was also hilarious and opinionated. She had one son, my cousin Danny. She also loved all of her neices and nephews. I have so many childhood memories of her - she was the cool aunt we always loved to spend time with. Too much to say.

Lynn Conner - mother in law. She died about 6 years ago this month. I wish I had gotten to know her better as everything I've learned about her - from Clay and his sister, from her letters and pictures leads me to believe we would have been the best of friends. I knew her just a little bit as she worked at the college that Clay and I went too - and what I knew I really admired. She was full of love and life and adored her husband and two children. I wish she could have been at our wedding.

Dr. William F. Conner - father in law. His life was amazing. He grew up very poor and in rough conditions. He battled very strong learning disabilities - worked like crazy to overcome them. At the time he died he had earned (back in the early 80's) a doctorate and was chairman of the College's English Department. He seemed so quiet and serious, but had these very twinkly mischievious eyes and a wicked cutting sense of humor. After his wife Lynn died he and Clay grew much closer in their combined grief and became the best of friends. He imparted so much strenght and wisdom and humor to his children. Clay is his mirror image - and I couldn't be more grateful.

Pets - Riff the Horse, Kodak, Mitzi, and Bucky - Cats - you couldn't have been more dear to us.

I thought this was rather lovely and fitting:

This is what passes for hope: those we have lost evoked in us feelings of love that we didn’t know we were capable of. These permanent changes are their legacies, their gifts to us. In this way, we remain faithful to their memories. – Gordon Livingston, M.D.

My Aunt Ruth Gaskill (Aunt Ruthie) – can’t remember the dates, but she was 103 when she died. It was in the mid 80’s. She lived 2 houses down from me and I ’dored her. She had healing hands as well as brought stuffed animals, when I was sick. I’d call her and say “Aunt Oofie, I’m sick” and she’d come up and bring a little stuffed animal and sit and rub my head while I’d lay on the couch. I always felt so much better.

She always wore a big big apron with huge pockets – she had aspirin in one pocket and she ate those like candy (for her aches and pains) and in the other pocket had Juicy Fruit gum (and she would tear each piece in half) and pink and white mints. She was one who preferred the fat on meat –YUK - she’d come up for supper and daddy would carve the chuck roast or pork roast and she’d want a hunk of fat – whatever, he’d say. Must not have hurt her, cause like I said, she lived to be 103 and really hadn’t ever been sick – probably the aspirin helped her arthritis and blood too if the fat did do anything – didn’t hear of cholesterol back then. Ahead of her time probably in the aspirin regiment they talk about now.

She would baby-sit me, especially on Friday nights while Daddy worked till 9pm at his sporting goods store and Mom and Grandma went to Bingo at the Moose Lodge. In the summer, when he’d get home, he’d take Aunt Oofie and me to either A&W rootbeer stand or Top Hat rootbeer stand and change places so I could sit in the driver seat and be near the tray the car hop would bring. We’d get a hamburger and rootbeer.

She taught me how to ride a 2 wheeler bike and she was the baby tooth puller and to my horror wrapped my hair in rags to make curls like they did in her day (looked like Shirley Temple or Nellie Olsen). She made THE BEST cucumbers and onions in vinegar, baked apples and made THE WORST noodles and dressing for stuffing a turkey.

But she had the softest healing hands and most loving touch, other than my mom and daddy, I’ve ever encountered. I never saw her mad or upset – and she had her faults, that I of course realize now, but doesn’t matter, she was my beloved Aunt Oofie. Of course I knew Aunt Oofie was “sick” every Sat. when I was little, but hey, it was just the way she was.

She drank like a fish on Saturdays with her friend Pauline. Those two old gals would take care of a case of beer every Sat. And Aunt Oofie would cuss like a sailor when tanked. Sweetest little old lady except on Saturdays and she could drink and cuss and play penny anti poker with the best of long shore men. :roflmao:

Everybody called her Aunt Ruthie and she was much loved in the community.
I miss you.

My dog Amy (where I get my Jix name). 1969-1983

She was a apricot miniature poodle and she was so very much loved. I had always wanted a dog, but we live on a busy corner and my parents didn’t want to take a chance of losing one when I was little, so I was a senior in high school before I ever got a pet.

She took over the house from day one and ruled the roost from that day on.

She wasn’t without health issues and how she lived as long as she did is amazing. She developed epilepsy and would have seizures and had to take medicine just like people do.

When she was a year old, had operation for bladder stones and from then on had to take a pill daily and drink distilled water.

She’d sit on my dad’s lap after supper and he’d throw a squeaky toy across our long living room, she’d jump off, go get it, come back and hop on his lap and this was repeated quite a few times. My dad liked gum drop orange slices, and she’d sit on his lap and those two would be chewing and chewing and chewing on those gum drops.

It was odd the night she died. I had gone to Washington DC and the day I got home was day she died – it was like she waiting for me to get home. I got home about 11pm, and mom met me at the door saying Amy hadn’t been good that entire day. I went in the living room and she was under the piano bench. I squatted down and called her and she crawled out on her tummy and kissed me and laid her head down. Her eyes were open but kind of like in a coma.
Called the vet and we took her out at midnight. He said system just shutting down and he didn’t think she’d make it through the night. We left her there and he called the next morning and said he checked her about 4am and she was ok but had passed away by 6am. I thank God he let her be alive till I got home from my trip – and got to say goodbye.

From Madeleine L'Engle's A Ring of Endless Light:

Each tree and leaf and star show how
The universe is part of this one cry
That every life is noted and is cherished
And nothing loved is ever lost or perished.

Sadly Hollow
 

This has been in Ann Landers and Dear Abby's column author unknown. Erika gave me a copy when my maternal grandmother died.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glint upon the snow
When you awaken in the mornings hush
I am the quiet rush of birds in flight
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there I did not die

This was during the tributes to WGN radio's Bob Collins the day he passed on but I sadly have no idea where it's from

When I must be going for a little while
do not cry or shed wild tears
or hold your sorrows to you through the years
But go on gallantly for my sake in my name
and do all things just the same.

A song I always find comfort in is Linda Ronstadt's "Goodbye My Friend" and Sarah MacLauchlin's "I Will Remember You" and "Angel" all of which were played during Walter Payton's memorial service and all were played in the weeks after 9/11.

Forgot
 

2 very important things when I wrote about my stepfather:

1. Allen is half named after him and

2. He bought me my first Trixie book.

My maternal gandparents, Joe and Gladys Thobe. Grandpa died in 1960 and Grandma in 1974 - a month after my dad died.

Grandpa was a painter in Toledo Ohio and came to NE Ind. in the 30's. Opened a hardware store and then my dad later bought it from him. Grandpa loved to fish and hunt and garden. He taught me to fish and garden and when I was little, I'd call him up and pretty soon he'd show up at our backdoor surprising mom as he'd say "Anybody want to go to Crooked Lake" and I'd run out with my suitcase and I'd go out for a couple days. (only 5 miles from my house, but seemed like a real adventure).

He died happy - he was in his boat and had just caught a pike. Had a heart attack and died in the boat. Some other fishermen noticed he was slumped over and rowed over to him.

Grandma was a corker - I was never as close to her as I was to Grandpa, but loved her very much.

She made the best simple dish of spaghetti and tomato juice, butter salt and pepper. And she always sliced slices of ice cream from the half gallon container and we ate them on a plate with alot of chocolate syrup on them. She had 1/2 boiled ham sandwich, a tablespoon of cottage cheese, a tablespoon of potato salad and a sugar cookie for lunch just about as long as I can remember. Once in awhile she'd have something else, but not often.

and like Miss Trask and Mr. Lytell, she LOVED THE WRESTLING MATCHES ON TV.

And MADE me sit and watch President Kennedy's funeral - this is history and you will be glad you watched it - I am.

And she couldn't quite figure why they had to haul the moon rocks ALL THE WAY BACK FROM THE MOON - just go to edge and drop them over.
I'm still not sure if she was kidding or not.

They were wonderful grandparents.

In memory of Raymond.

My Pepere was my father's father. I didn't know him very well, because he had 10 children, many grandchildren, and also, he and my Memere moved to Florida when I was only five. We used to visit them every year in the winter, and I remember him being gentle and easy-going with us kids, but pretty disinterested. In the summer, he and my Memere would come north and stay with us for a month. They would hang around and swim in our pool, while all their many kids would stop by to see them. Their visits turned our house into party central for a month every summer. He always wore plain-colored t-shirts with golf shorts (he didn't golf) with a big leather belt and black dress socks pulled up to his knees and leather shoes. It was a signature look. Pepere put bourbon in his coffee every morning, and sometimes he let me taste it. The smell of bourbon still reminds me of him. He was a heavy drinker, like so many of the guys on both sides of my family, but also a gentle man.

When I was in 7th grade, I visited my grandparents in Florida with just a cousin of mine who was around the same age. That time I got to know my Pepere a bit better; I remember he allowed us to teach him how to play Super Mario Bros on the Nintendo (we had brought it with us) and he yelled at us for tying stuffed animals to the ceiling fan. (My cousin's idea, not mine.) That year I was just starting to get interested in history, and I asked him some questions about his time serving in the Pacific during the war. He wasn't willing to tell me much, but I remember being amazed he was still walking around with part of a bullet inside his body.

He died the next year, from complications following open-heart surgery. He was 70 years old. My father grieves his loss very deeply, in part because he feels like he never got to know his dad as well as he wanted to. I think my Pepere's legacy is that losing him so suddenly taught my father to get to know his own kids better. I thank God for that.

Another thing: since I had my daughter, I've had lots of people tell me how "lucky" I am that my husband "helps out." When this topic comes up around my Memere (she's 80 this year and still going strong) she laughs and says, "Back in my day, the men never did anything. But not in our family. When you've got ten kids, the man doesn't have a choice about changing diapers, or making dinner, or cleaning vomit. Your Pepere did it all." I always like hearing that, because it means he and I have at least the experience of poopy diapers in common.

I could also tell a funny story that's part of our family lore about birth control (they are/were Roman Catholic) but it's probably not in the best taste for this board. And speaking of things that aren't appropriate for this board, the two phrases I can remember him saying very clearly both break the third commandment, and I don't want to offend any of y'all, so I'll leave them out. But I smile when I think of him saying them, and how they've become catch-phrases within my extended family to indicate impatience or frustration.

Raymond is remembered very fondly, needless to say. We visit his grave as a group, sometimes, on the anniversary of his death and/or Veteran's Day. Since the family is so large and boisterous, it's a fun occasion. I imagine him saying, "Ye gods and little fishes... did someone bring me a drink?"

(After I wrote this, I was flipping through my photo albums and I found another picture I wanted to share. The signature Pepere look is in evidence here, though the shirt is missing because he's at the beach. I'm the little one with the towel.)

In memory of Joshua.

My mother's best friend from high school is still one of her best friends. I grew up spending a great deal of time with her family. Eight years ago this week, her youngest son hung himself in his bedroom closet. He was 15. His death shook so many lives to the very roots and beyond. I still can't see it as anything but a terrible thing, and early November always feels vaguely ominous to me.

Rest in peace, Josh. You are missed.

In Memory of Michael Rathbone
June 11, 1949 - June 13, 2001

Lay Me Down

(James Raymond)

[Intro. (Acoustic Guitar)]

Driving out through the windmills
And some of them were still
Sometimes it's hard to catch the wind
And bend it to your will

Even though it's hard to know
Just how the story ends
The road is long and it takes its time
On that you can depend

Lay me down in the river
And wash this place away
Break me down like sand from a stone
Maybe I'll be whole again one day

Lay me down, lay me down
Maybe I'll be whole again
Lay me down, lay me down
Maybe I'll be whole again

Somewhere between heaven and hell
A soul knows where it's been
I want to feel my spirit lifted up
And catch my breath again

Lay me down in the river
And wash this place away
Break me down like sand from a stone
Maybe I'll be whole again one day

Lay me down, lay me down
Maybe I'll be whole again
Lay me down, lay me down
Maybe I'll be whole again
Lay me down, lay me down
Maybe I'll be whole again one day

Crosby and Nash

The best years of my life were with Mike. He died unexpectedly and way too soon. When I first heard the above song on the radio, I thought Mike was speaking to me. David Crosby lives near Santa Barbara where I live. I will never forget the day Mike came home and said David Crosby was behind him in the takeout line at at local restaurant. Mike said he was so in awe, he recognized his David Crosby's voice right away and for him, it was a truly magic moment.

Mke was the love of my life. I am so grateful for the time we had together. I have not felt whole since Mike died and I am waiting to be whole again. I am hoping that God does know where a soul has been and that I will see Mike again.

My Little Sister
 

The person who I would have to remember the most is my little sister, Cindy
May 7, 1962 - July 1, 2000. She was two years younger than me and her death has left such a hole in my life and in the lives of so many. To paraphrase what I said at her funeral - Cynthia means bringer of light, and that it what Cindy did. She brought light into the lives of many others. Her parents, her brothers and sisters, her husband, her students, her work colleagues and her extended family.

Cindy earned a degree in education and later a Master's degree in special education teaching the hearing impaired. She was proficient in Sign language and excelled at helping others. She had no children of her own and took immense pleasure in doing everything she could to spoil my children beyond belief. My son was born on her wedding anniversary, giving her what she believed was the divine privilege to spoil him with anything and everything he wanted. She was the family glue. She made the family calendar of birthdays for family reunions, fixed grab bags for all her nieces and nephews at Christmas and she was maybe my biggest fan.

Every May and every Christmas and every family reunion I miss her like crazy. I will forever be comforted that although her death was unexpected and a shock that afternoon before she died that evening, I spoke to her on the phone and told her how much I loved her.

We fought like crazy as kids but no one outside the family could dare mess with any of us that we would not join forces against them! She has left a hole in my life and the lives of my children. She was indeed a bringer of light.

Dad
 

William Theophilus Roberts, Jr. Born in 1992 and died in 1997 from a massive heart attack. His family called him Dink, his colleagues called him Bill but for me and mine he was simply Dad. He was a survivor of the attack on Pearl Harbor that launched the United States into World War II. He never forgot the events of that day, he made sure his children understood the events of that day and he never let us forget that freedom is the most important treasure we have as Americans and it is our duty to defend the constitution of the United States.

My father taught me more than anyone else about life. He could type proficiently, and insisted that his children attend college, he himself attended on the GI Bill and became an electrical engineer. Besides sending five children to college as a father, he also send his younger sister to school to become a nurse before he married. He had a life of poverty, his father died when he was 12 and his mother when he was 18 and unable to return home from the Navy due to the war. He took care of his family. He married when he was 36 and had five children with my mother and tried to adopt his Sister's grandson when he realized he was being abused, but the Judge wouldn't let him and instead sent him to a children's home. My father was very angry about that.

Dad was the greatest Dad a girl could ask for. He was tough about what mattered and lenient about what didn't. I was allowed to talk on the phone as much as I liked in the evenings provided homework was done and the kitchen had been cleaned after dinner. He felt he was getting his money's worth if his kids used the phone! When I was a silly teenager he welcomed my friends and used to call us his "Angels" a take-off on Charlie's Angels. Holly Dunn used to sing a song called "Daddy's hands" that always reminded me of him, Daddy's hands weren't always gentle but I've come to understand, there was always love in Daddy's hands.

Yes, I was a Daddy's girl, and even today in a highly charged political situation in corporate America I will often sit back in my chair and think, "Now what would Dad tell me in this situation?" I remember after he had his bypass surgery he got all maudlin on us for a while, and we were sitting at the house and he was going on about all the people in the obituaries that were younger than him. He kept on and on... and finally I looked over at him and said, Okay Dad, I get it. But you haven't told us how many of them are older than you either. What's that number? He was shocked and looked and counted and got over it. Yep there many more older!

Chitown Steph posted the poem that was read at Dad's funeral and it reminds me of him, my sister, my grandmother and many of my beloved Aunts and Uncles who were so dear and near to me growing up! Please forgive me for posting it again.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Thanks
 

I didn't realize I didn't remember the whole thing. It's a truly beautiful poem.

Ironically Tuesday was the anniversary of the death of Walter Payton who's last name Christopher has as his middle name. I remember that day so vividly. The Cubs named Don Baylor their new manager that day and he opened his press conference with "Let's all join in a special prayer for Walter Payton" and they had just come out of the press conference on WGN radio when Dave Kaplan broke in with the news of Sweetness' death. He was my childhood hero, a great example of living and playing to the fullest extent you can and never ever ever giving up. I didn't cry at all until the Saturday afterwards during the memorial service when they played a mournful trumpet version of "Bear Down, Chicago Bears". He was also someone I knew and admired on a personal level. I know Michael Jordan played here and won 6 titles but imho Sweetness is the greatest athlete to ever wear a Chicago uniform.

I would like to remember my grandfather Orlando who died Memorial weekend, 2002. He lived a long life, raised 14 children, 11 of whom lived to adulthood.
I also remember my grandmother Blanche Knuth who passed away April, 2005 at the age of 90 and her only brother Wardell Besecker, who passed away two weeks earlier at the age of 92.
I would also love to remember my fatithful rat terrier Lightning, who died August 3, 2002 at the age of twelve. The last six months of his life he suffered from diabetes and we fought to get it under control. He lost his eyesight suddenly two days before his death. Lightning was a beautiful pet and best friend. He reminded me of a Gremlin the way his ears would always stand straight up. I still cannot mention his name around my other rat terrier Lacey without her looking for him.
I also would like to remember my husband's stepfather Arnold Halverson, who passed away January 3, 2005 from advanced prostate cancer.