In memory of: Please post.

In memory of:

I realize that many people here have lost people they loved and truly miss. Here is a thread to remember them by. Post your feelings for those that are dead.

Sandy you died of Leukemia less than one year ago. Your fight was for about two years. I gave you as much support as I could because I loved you as the best friend that I could have. I knew you but eleven years, yet you will be with me till my death. I made a gift for someone this week and for a moment thought how you would think it funny, and of your laugh. They loved the present, but still I wished that you had seen it. I heard your laughter in my mind, before I realized that it was not to come. A memory of what you were, and how you are part of me, came at that exact time. You forget sometimes that they have passed and for a moment forget their death. I wish to share what we talked about and carry on as before. I know that this will not be, until we meet beyond.

Regardless of the one you lost, sometime you just forget, and think of how that person will react, to what you have found. The joke, the tale, or the experience, that just has come to mind. For that fleeting moment you have found the spark that sets your mind a blaze, and with that your spirit rises. You forget their death and think of them, and all that they still are to you.

Post your in memory of, please!

I’m sorry I didn’t know you enough. I found out later from everybody who loved you just what a treasure I missed out.

I don’t regret, however, the last time i saw you. It makes me smile.

They played “People Who Died” at the club and all those dumb jock didn’t know the proper way to dance to Jim Carroll songs, but WE did.

I remember it was you and I and Brian who jumped up on the platform and showed everybody how it was done, though you were a better dancer than i was. That song still makes me happy and i dance to it and think of you whenever I hear it.

The song was running through my head at your funeral, and i thought you would appreciate the irony.

I remember that that was the last time I ever saw you, but it was also the best time and had I known that it would be the last time I would ever see you, I wouldn’t have done a thing different.

'Love you.

The man I came to know as WallyM7.

This place isn’t as much fun since he’s left us. That is a small item compared to the void that his family and people who knew him in real life must feel, I know. But I still miss him and I still cry from time to time over his loss.

Brandi, we hadn’t talked in awhile when you died. I remember the day very well…it was opening night of my first “real” performance my sophomore year of high school, on November 20th. We were all backstage, busily applying makeup and encouraging each other, when one of your best friends came in crying and broke the news. Instantly, the backstage area was a flood of tears; everyone from the director to each junior high “waiter” was stunned. You were only an eighth grader, barely 13–who dies at that age? I’d promised to show you around high school the next year. We took cheerleading from the same people.
I later found out that the man who hit you went into depression, so severe that he needed major psychiatric help. I felt badly for him.
Then, I felt badly for your mom when she miscarried. Your sister Stephanie was so excited; she still misses you.
She has a new sister now–they adopted a child who desperately needed a home. I think you know and you’re smiling.
We’ve not forgotten you Brandi–I know I never will. Thanks for being such a beautiful and inspiring person.

I don’t think I ever told you this, but I truly loved you. I knew you kept to yourself. I saw other people make fun of you, but you never reciprocated. We talked a good deal, but only online. You didn’t go to my school; in fact, you lived in Maryland, but I met you in D.C. You were the funniest guy there–always laughing, but you never laughed at someone else’s expense. But even though almost everyone liked you, some people found it fun to destroy what self-confidence you had. Was that why you never asked a girl out? I wish you’d asked me out, just once. I wish you’d told me what was going on inside. I could’ve have given you the help you needed, but I would’ve been there for you. Every time we talked, though, you said everything was “fine.” You didn’t have to lie to me; I would’ve listened to anything you said.
What I really don’t understand, Jason, is why you decided you had to go. Your last email to me was strange. The last line spooked me a little, but I figured it was just a joke. I mean, you commit suicide? It was unthinkable.
The email I got from your brother two days later tore my world apart for awhile.
You know what I found really strange, Jason? You only sent a farewell email to me and Mike. We were the only two people who cared about you? I know that wasn’t true then, and it’s certainly not true now. Mike and I still can’t believe it. You shouldn’t be dead. You and I were going to go to college together and force them to let us live together. We were also going to be business partners.
I guess we’ll always be friends. I don’t think I’ll find another business partner.
I love you, Jason. I wish you had known that. I wish we hadn’t kidded around when we said it. I wish a lot of things.
I wish you weren’t dead.


I remember when we first got to know each other at work. You were the only one there shorter than I was, and I thought that was so cool! And you had such a sense of humor, and a love of the erotic to match my own. We could, and did, talk about anything. From your boyfriend at the time, to your growing attraction to Dave. I was afraid that you’d get hurt, but you fell in love with Dave, and he fell in love with you and it was almost fairytail like. I’ll never forget your reaction when you found out I knew how he was going to propose. You couldn’t believe I hadn’t told you, but I could tell you were secretly glad that I hadn’t.

And how you stood by me, through all my mixed emotions when I went through things with Tom. You were the one there for me when he got married and said we’d have no future. And as I started dating him, even though he was married… you offered me support that I needed. I’m only sorry that when I changed jobs, we grew apart. I kept telling myself “I can call her tomorrow.” I wasn’t able to make it to your wedding, but you understood the new job wouldn’t let me out. There was time for us to share other important things.

And then I got the call from Joe. He told me to sit down, he had bad news to tell me. And he told me that you died. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t even known you were in the hospital. And now you were gone. It was your heart, they said. The bad heart I’d always known you’d had. But they managed to save the baby, premature that it was. And now he’s going strong, from what I’ve heard.

Yours was the first, the only, funeral I’d ever been to. I cried harder that day than I ever had. And I felt so guilty for not taking the time to see you before, when I should have, when I needed to.

But you even helped with that. I had that wonderful dream that night. The one where you and I were shopping, like we had one of the last times we’d gotten together, and we were just talking. I looked at you and said, “You know, you really had a beautiful funeral.” That’s when you agreed, and told me you had other things to tell me. I don’t remember what we talked about, but I do remember that when I woke up, I felt better. You were always so good about that with me.

I miss you, Bida. I will until the day I die. But you will always live in my memory, and I will remember the things you taught me in your love of life. Thank you for being my friend in your short time here on Earth. I love you.

Pam, you were my best friend in the whole world, closer to me than any other person ever will be. I trusted you with my feelings, my secrets, my thoughts, my life. I hope that, if you were alive today, you could say the same for me. I loved you with all my heart, and I always will. Seventeen years old, and you had barely begun to live. But your life filled those around you with a kindness and love that can’t even be described.

I’d gotten to know you very well in almost 10 years. During that time, we shared our dreams, our laughter, our tears of both sadness and joy, our fears, and our friendship. I couldn’t ask for a better friend than you and I’m happy that I am able to call you “friend”. Selfishly, I wish I hadn’t gotten so close to you. I miss you more today than I did almost a year ago when you were ripped out of my world. I wish this didn’t hurt so much, and I wish I could understand. But it does and I can’t, so the most I can do is go on. I try.

I visited your family today. Michelle begged me to move in with her. She says she misses me so much. I got hugs and kisses from her and I wished that I could take your place so that you could be with her. Your little sister loves you and I know she misses you. She’s doing pretty well in kindergarten, as far as I know. I keep pestering Joe to get a job. He’s lazy, but at least he knows that. :slight_smile:

Anyway, I miss you and I love you. And I wish you were here.

Keep it coming folks. I know that all can contribute.

The ones we know that have departed, still influence you. The touch or manerisism, that triggers what you knew. We the living are the link, to people that have gone. Give to others the special tribute, to the ones you loved. A moment of remembrance, by people that they loved, is worth a thousand folds the time, in which you grieved their parting. Be they long or shortly gone, think of the pleasures and picture their mirth. Talk of members gone away, and relise that to talk of them, is good for all around. For talking of a departed soul, brings good memories to all of whom they knew.

Please post!

Who would have known, I’d be sitting here,
tears running down, because of my fears.

The years in the Navy, kept us apart,
but my love for you, stayed in my heart.

One night on leave, you went away,
God called you home, and there you will stay.

I stood so proud, when that bugle blew.
My heart left me, and went to you.

The years will come, and the years will go,
but in my heart, only you will know.

I’ll stand with pride, when that flag goes by,
I’ll look up at you, and wink my eye.

The honor you gave to me, I’ll hold on so tight.
It’ll never in this life, leave my sight.

I’ll try each day to stop these tears, I no longer want to cry,
but if I could have, just one more wish, I wish I could say Good-Bye…

I just finished reading over the columns I’ve done in the past year for the newspaper contest and had to re-read the one I did for you. Tears still stream down my face as I read those words I wrote nearly a year ago.
You’ve been gone 11 years now and it’s still hard for me to believe that I’ll never see you again. I think of you every day and hope I always will.
Daddy, you never got to meet your grandson. He has your eyes and not the crappy green ones I got. When he sets his jaw in determination to do something, I see a miniature picture of you. He’s gotten straight A’s this year. You’d be proud of him. And he’d adore you.
When you had the stroke, I didn’t have the chance to tell you how much I cared. You were here and then you were gone and it wasn’t fair. I held your hand and said “I love you; don’t leave me,” over and over again, but I don’t know if you heard me.
I miss you.
I’m going to submit the column on you for the contest. You’re my daddy; the judges will see how proud I am of you. I love you always, B.

In memory of Dickie (

I knew you only for a few short months, and held you for only three days. You survived for twenty years with an unbearable diagnosis, and watched as all your friends fell around you, knowing that your turn would eventually come. Your death still haunts me, for the many who are so hurt by your being gone, and the loss of those who never got to hear your laughter…

My mother who died at 41 when the cancer which was in remission had other plans. I saw her a couple hours before she passed. I like to think that she recognized me. I hadn’t seen her for a couple years until then. Too much was left unsaid, too many things unanswered.

Don’t ever take your family for granted. If you do, it’s something you will never forgive yourself for.

It’s 9 years since my baby died and not a day goes by without it hurting… I don’t know where the years have gone but I still wish you could come back and show me who you were…

I know that you were hurting. You had every right to be. What happened to you was inhumane and unforgivable.
Still, I wish with all my heart that we could’ve had that one day together to talk things over. Would it have made any difference if I were there? I don’t know and never will. But if I could tell you now that you were loved, so much and by so many, I would.
I am.
Time has passed, but there is still a hole in my life that cannot be filled by your absence. And the world still suffers from the loss of a life so good and a heart so pure. In a time when a darkness surrounds so many of us, we need more people like you to show the rest of us what it means to truly shine with a light as bright as the sun.
I miss your brightness, your warmth. I miss your smile and your joyous laughter. I miss the sparkle in your eyes.
I miss you. And will, forever.

“He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.”

I miss you, Yuan. I know you’d raise hell over how they are screwing your wife and my sister and I out of the money you would have assumed would have gone to us. Mom keeps saying that the world seems to be a scarier place now that you’re not in it. I don’t think so. It’s not scarier, it’s just not as friendly a place. There seems to be less laughter. I know people keep telling me that you’re with me always, but when I need advise, when I need to laugh, you won’t be a phone call away. You were always amazed by me, and I miss that already. I’ve never met a human being who savored life as much as you, and it seems riduculous that you aren’t alive anymore. It seems equally ridiculous that I am able to get through a day without bursting into tears. I feel like that’s betraying you somehow. Equally, I feel like a moron for crying when I hear a song that is about loss, or death. Indigo Girl’s “Fair Thee Well” set me off for a half hour the other day. I don’t like feeling out of control. And loosing you made me feel out of control.

Most of all, I feel like it’s not fair that I lost you. I know I was lucky to have you in my life, but you left too soon.

What can I say that hasn’t been said? How does a 28 year old man die of a heart attack out of the blue? Why didn’t we suspect? Why weren’t you home when it happened, so that I could say good-bye? I didn’t know until you were in the morgue, no one thought to call me before then.
We fit toegther, you and I. I used to say that the bumps on your head fit the holes in mine. It so seldom happens that you find exactly what you need. We did, and then you were gone. Loving you was worth all this, even if I only held you for a little while.

I knew you were dying…you knew you were dying too. I could see it in your eyes the last time we went to visit you in the hospital. But I was only 9 at the time…I didn’t know what I was about to give up. All I cared about was getting back home, because I was afraid to miss a tv show. I gave you a peck on the cheek, and rushed out the door. By the time I got home to watch it, there was already a message on the answering machine. You had passed away. Grandad, you’d be proud of what I’ve become. I’m almost 19 now, if you were alive, you’d be sure to remember to send me one of those cheesy kids birthday cards you sent every year. We never told you, but every year, you sent us the exact same card. The litle girl in the dress, she was a running joke in our family. It was the thought that counted though…at least you remembered my birthday. Grandma misses you too, but she doesn’t like to show it. When we stay over though, I hear her crying for you in her sleep. You’d be proud of Mom too. She finally moved away, she made something of her life. We’re living outside of Boston, and she makes 3 times her salary in Florida. We’re not poor anymore. When we go to the store, it’s not all dreaming. We spend money.
I had a bowl of fruity pebbles the other morning, and smiled in your rememberence. How you never knew that they already came sugarcoated, that you didn’t have to add your own sugar. And we wonder why we have dental problems.

I love you Grandad. I know somewhere, you’re looking down at us, and smiling.

So many has touched my life and gone. Each taught me a lesson all their own. May I always remember those lessons.
Their lights may flicker with time, but they will never go out. I will keep them burning as long as I am alive.

You were all special in your own way, and I am thankful that you were in my life no matter the length of time I had you. And you each have your own place in my heart

In memory of

JB- The master of chocolate cake and orange juice for breakfast.
Mike- I am sorry you chose to leave this life when you did, I believe you could have found happiness here.
Jamie Michelle- I was never even able to hold you in my arms, but I held you in and under my heart. And I often wonder what you would have been.
Paul- You were a wonderful man, and father-in-law.
Deloris- You never turned away anyone who needed help
Eva- You taught me what unconditional love is, I am humbled at your memory, you held your faith to the end.
Margie- You lived your faith the best you knew how and loved much.
Billy- You taught me that laughter and beauty can be found in almost anything.
Dale- I am so glad I was able to tell you that you were my hero.
Fanny- Strength in the face of adversity.
Jen- Yet another who chose to leave far too soon, you had barely begun to live. I hope you are at peace now.


Your son tells me many stories about you. Not flattering ones, I must admit. He tells me that you were a difficult father and husband. He also says that after his mother died, you changed. You made your peace with your God and yourself, remarried to a positively wonderful woman, and began to focus more on your grandchildren.

I wish that I had had time to get to know you better. We lived so far apart, and I got pregnant so soon after marrying your son. I’m glad we kept in touch so well, though, through the phone and the mail. Your letters of encouragement to Tim, telling him to keep on with his music, never berating him for not having a “real job,” even though he now had a wife and child, meant so much to him. He still has them all, and they’ll never be thrown out, ever.

We found out you had cancer a month before we discovered we were expecting another baby. We had planned to visit you as soon as possible, but you wondered if that would be a good idea, knowing that I was pregnant. I more or less told you to blow it out your ear–we were coming to visit, and bringing not only your granddaughter, but your older grandson as well. That delighted you.

The visit was painful. By the time we got there in the spring, you were just barely hanging on. More than one person told us that they firmly believed that you were hanging on for us, and that you would probably have died several weeks before if you hadn’t known that we were coming. You bounced back while we were there, though. You spent an awful lot of time hugging and kissing your grandchildren, knowing all the time you’d never see them again. And when we told you that if this next one was a boy, he would be named after you, you cried, and said “I’ve always hoped that one of my sons would do that for me.”

Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. If we could have stayed with you until the end, we would have, believe me. I had an ultrasound the day after we got back, and sure enough, we were expecting a boy. We called you with the news, and you sounded so happy.

The next day you slipped into a semi-comatose state, and didn’t ever really wake up again. Three weeks later, you were gone.

Your grandson is hale and hearty, and he’s got the same twinkle in his eyes that I saw in yours when you played your fiddle for the kids the night before we left. Your granddaughter has it too. They’re spirited little kids. I wish you could be with them physically, but I take comfort in knowing that your spirit lives in them. They’re tough, like you were. They’ve inherited the gift of music, the same one you gave to your son. They’ll be players, alright.

I’m glad I had the chance to know you, John. And feel free to check in on the kids whenever you get time. I know you’re up there jamming with all the old hot country swing fiddlers. :smiley:

Gramma, when it was near the end, I told you to let go and to stop worrying about us. You listened, and I’m glad that you’re finally at rest. It makes me feel good to know that you’re with Grampa after all those years. But it really stinks for us. I miss you so much. When I call the house, I keep wondering why you don’t answer the phone before Mom gets there. And every time I go there, I think I’ll see you, but then I don’t.
None of us took this well at all. Lisa is so sorry that she didn’t see you that last night, and no amount of convincing will make her believe that it was okay that she didn’t go. She won’t even sit in your chair when she comes over, because it’s yours. Megan’s heart broke when you died. In some ways, that was the hardest part for me, because she’s my baby sister and I couldn’t stop her pain. I can’t believe Mom is doing so well. But she’s like you. She takes care of everyone else first. I’m trying to be there for her, but in a lot of ways I don’t know how. She lost her mom, and I don’t know how to make that okay.
Honestly, though, other than moments like this, I am okay. I think about you every day. I miss you all the time. I knew that someday you would die, but I was hoping that maybe God makes exceptions for Grammas. I wish my children could have met you. When I have them, I’m going to tell them all about you, and they’ll know how special you are to me and everyone else who knew you.

I know that I will see you again someday, but until then, know that I’m okay, and I’m happy in my life, and Dad and Mom and Megan and I will take care of each other like we always have. I love you so much.