I saw your name

Preamble: I was researching a name on the Findagrave.com website and by chance I wrote this name and was amazed at what I read and this prompted to write this obituary.



I read your obituary ,When I saw your name and your age of death,

I felt very sadden, Its not fair, to leave us soon.

I, couldn’t imagine the thought. Its enough when you lose your parents,

but a child, its awful. Yes, I know you were a young adult, but, in the tree of life, a child.



I never met you, nor did I know you were on this earth,

until yesterday, I read your obituary, I was searching for something else.

and your name came to my mind and within a few seconds, I was reading about you,

I read your obit, read it again and I reminisced the names of your Family.



I knew your Grandparents and aunt when I was younger and we had no idea what the world had in store for us. Wide eyed and naïve we were and just went on blind faith, And at once it seems were thinking what was in store for them, what would the future bring. Time moves quickly and fate does what it does. Little, did we know that a mutant cell was going to claim your life so soon.



I read your obituary ,When I saw your name and your age of death, I felt very sadden, Its not fair, to leave us soon. That thought will never leave me and in a moment when I want to just rest, your name will come to me and I think about what could have been for you. Its not fair, is there any justice left.? Tears, easily flow and I weep, for you. Life, isn’t fair.!!.



After a space in time, I begin to slow down and tell myself you are in a better place and yes, the pain of your death is still fresh in many minds, I am sure their thoughts are the same as this grieving process continues. The episodes will occur less often and we will still cry for your memory and how much we miss you and begin again to restore our selves.

To your Family and friends that knew you and loved you, raised, praised and cared for you, From the moment of your birth, to the moment of last breath, I offer my sincere condolences and forever in time, your memory will remain. Rest in peace.

Time, vanished in the Mist

Time, vanished in the Mist


Its two whole years since Mom has passed,

That time has gone, vanished in the mist.

Why is it time, sometimes drags,

And other times its just zooms in a blink.



There isn’t a day that goes by and we reflect,

About Her and I know she is fine.

I wonder if She looks in on us, She must,

To see how we are doing.?., always caring.



The mantle on the fireplace is now full,

Of pictures of relatives that have passed on.

I am having a solitary memorial in this room,

Might as well, I can toast them, they are all here.



The pictures are positioned, Elders first,

Not in any unique order, just placed by Families.

There is Great-Grandma, Great-Grandpa, all special,

There funny stories still retold time and again.



Then Grandma and Grandpa, they are still fresh in mind,

Time has slowly eased the pain of their departure, slightly.

But a small twinge pokes your heart when you gaze,

At their pictures, smiling, twinkles in the eyes, eternal, now.



What disbelief that so much time has crept away,

Where has it gone, just like its yesterday.

The words, that echo, “I can’t believe they have gone”,

As you sip to their memory, “here’s to you all”.



You, finish looking at the pictures, your lineage ,

You sit and gaze from a comfortable chair.

Content, to sip and remember them, your folks,

When you were small, then they grew old, mellows you.



Soon, your drink is done, they are properly respected,

You say a prayer for them and hum a special song.

Soon, the warmth of the alcohol, makes you drowsy,

You nod, fall into a restful sleep, into Dreams, from somewhere.



Its, been two years since Mom has passed,

That time has vanished in the mist.

Bruce Nuckowski

2012


The Thrill of Living

To watch the sun set in the west

Without regretting;

To hail its advent in the east-

The night forgetting

To touch the cup with eager lips

And taste, not drain it;

To woo and tempt and court a bliss

And not attain it;

To fondle and caress a joy, yet

Hold it lightly;

Lest it become necessity and cling

Too tightly;

To smother care in happiness and

Grief in laughter;

To hold the present close – not

Questioning hereafter;

To have enough to share – to

know the joy of giving;

to thrill with all the sweets of

life – is living.


We miss you,Mom.



WHY WEAR A POPPY?

"Please wear a poppy", the lady said,

And held one forth, but I shook my head

Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,

And her face was old and lined with care;



"But beneath the scars the years had made

There remained a smile that refused to fade.

A boy came whistling down the street,

Bouncing along on carefree feet.



"His smile was full of joy and fun,

"Lady" said he, "may I have one?"

When she pinned it on, he turned to say:

"Why do we wear a poppy to-day ?"



"The lady smiled in her wistful way,

And answered: "This is Remembrance Day,

"And the poppy there is a symbol for

The gallant men who died in the war. "



"And because they did, you and I are free;

That's why we wear a poppy you see.

I had a boy about your size,

With golden hair and big blue eyes.



"He loved to play and jump and shout,

Free as a bird, he would race about .

As the years went by, he learned and grew,

And became a man - as you will too. "



"He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile,

But he'd seemed with us such a little while

When war broke out and he went away.

I still remember his face that day.



"When he smiled at me and said good-bye.

'I'll be back soon, Mum, so please don't cry.'

But the war went on and he had to stay

And all l could do was wait and pray.



"His letters told us of the awful fight

,(I can see it in my dreams at night),

With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,

And the mines and the bullets, the bombs and the fire."



"That sure did sound like an awful fight,

But your son - did he come back alright?"

A tear rolled down each faded cheek;

She shook her head but didn't speak .



"I slunk away in a sort of shame,

And if you were with me, you'd have done the same;

For our thanks, in giving is aft delayed,

Though our freedom was bought - and thousands paid !



"And so, when we see a poppy worn,

Let us reflect on the burden borne

By those who gave their very all

When asked to answer their country's call

That we at home in peace might live.

Then wear a poppy ! - and give !



Please wear a poppy, it says: “Well done.”



Why Wear A Poppy by Don Crawford



Handwritten in pencil, and on two sheets of foolscap, Don Crawford turned this poem in to the, The Perth Courier one morning in the early 1960s, where it first saw print a few days later.

For the next several years, and by means unknown, “Why Wear A Poppy” appeared in nearly every weekly newspaper and magazine, including LEGION, in Canada at Remembrance time, as well as foreign publications like Australia’s Anzac Appeal and Scotland’s Claymore magazine, copies of the same being sent to him.

Some years ago, Dominion Command of The Royal Canadian Legion, produced it on slides and tape for television and radio. Schools have used it extensively for their Remembrance programs.


 Donald J. Crawford died in hospital at Perth on Saturday, October 7, 2000.

All gave some,some gave all.
We Thank you.!!

I miss you,Bro!

No one ever really dies as long as they took the time to leave us with fond memories. ~Chris Sorensen

A Special Friend

I have a special friend,

I can truly call my own,

Someone, that I can talk to.

When I really feel alone.



Someone, who will listen,

To every word I say.

Even though the words I’ve spoken,

Have gotten lost along the way.



My friend is always with me,

Even in the dark of the night.

Like the soft glow of an ember,

Soft…but always bright.



His warmth will always be with me,

It wraps around my heart.

And through the coldest days of winter,

It gives me a brand new start.



My Special Friend is a he,

Although it maybe a she,

My Special Friend is my brother,

A Special part of me.



I can not face him man to man,

Until my day has come.

When the Father calls me home,

To stand beside his son.



But, as I strive through life’s ups and downs,

I have a hand to hold.

A Special hand….from a Special Friend,

Something to behold.



A Special Feeling,

A Special Heart,

That will always touch me,

It has, From the very start.



Dedicated to my late brother,


Robert Charles Alton.


Written by…


Leonard F. Alton, October 8th ,1989.