Parkinsons Avenue – Words of Sympathy

It begins with
The smaller things

To forget a word here
Lose something there

But soon the world
Becomes somewhat of a blur

She smiles and nods
The portrait of a Lady
Like she knows what’s going on

But when it’s time to speak her piece she stumbles over the words
The phrases are lost

She can only say No
Or simply start over with Let’s see

We smile reassuringly
Laugh it off
We forget things too

But we know when to eat dinner
We can still drive our cars

We all reach a point
When all we have
Is our mind and the memories

Who can remind you of them
If they’ve already gone?

My biggest fear is that
She will forget
She has forgotten

And we all become
A blur
Of walking memories
(by Kathryn E. Milligan)

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Most Precious Dear Loving Mother – Words of Sympathy

I need to publish this poem
For all the world to read
I know there are many out there
Who feel this kind of grief.

Perhaps they ask those questions of guilt
The ones with which we now must deal
Hoping we get all the right answers
The ones that will help our hearts to heal.

I held her hand and spoke softly
As she slowly faded away
The things I prayed she needed
To once again hear me say.

Most precious, dear loving, Mother
We’ll be together, again some-day.

I told her I will ‘always’ remember
The many times she pulled me through
That I couldn’t have made it without her
I prayed she would know I was speaking the truth.

I didn’t want to give her up
I needed her here, with me still
But I wouldn’t try to hold her back
For the Father, had spoken His Will.

Her eyes were closed for sometime now
Her breathing, so shallow
I could feel the weight, in my chest
As I spoke the last words to her
I could only watch, as she took her last breath.

My tears are still flowing
The heartache refuses to go away
But I know we’ll be united in Heaven
And never more to stray.

I held her hand and spoke softly
As she slowly faded away
Most precious, dear loving, Mother
We’ll be together, again someday.
(by Wanda S. Collier)

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The Ninth Pallbearer – Words of Sympathy

It was so sad,
With a tear in every eye,
To see this little lad,
We had all came to say goodbye,
The day they buried his Dad.

By his young bride,
She had chosen eight,
To assist in her husband’s final ride,
Heaven had called him, aged almost
twenty eight.

This little lad,
His only son, aged seven,
So very sad,
There to send his Dad’s body to heaven.

This we know is true,
For this soul so very new,
Taken before his time,
For no apparent reason or rhyme.

This promise kept,
As the family wept,
Life is eternal,
As written in God’s Journal.

The courage of this lad,
Even him so very sad,
Yes, his courage makes one glad.
The day they buried his Dad.

His mother had chosen,
Brave men, eight,
With others in sadness frozen,
Stepped the bravest so his Dad would
not be late.

With four on each side,
Came this little boy,
For him there was no joy,
For his Dad was on his final ride.

At the lead,
Came this lad with courage,
To carry his Dad,
During this sad entourage.

I will not lie,
For put a tear in my eye,
To see this little guy,
Who was trying not to cry.

His Mom picked eight,
For with the Lord his Dad had a date,
But with his sure gate,
His Dad surely would not be late.

With the Lord his Dad had to dine,
This Pallbearer number nine,
This Grandson of mine,
With courage divine.
(by Dale E. Harmon)

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