Memorial Poem

[Dusky]

Hello everyone,

I was inspired by KathyG to write a poem after reading here beautiful words a few days ago. The book I wrote, "Finding My Banana Bread Man" ( http://findingmybananabreadman.com/ ) contained many of my poems, however, I had not had the inspiration to pen another since completing my manuscript. Thank you KathyG for inspiring a few words.

Heres my latest words which I hope you find some comfort and meaning:

All The Years Yet To Be

It was not through your illness dear

Or the first night without you here

It was not when I called your name

Nor was it when no answer came

I thought of all the hardest stuff

Living life without you … is ruff

I’ve learned to cook … your special flare

And all the tasks you did with care

The saddest part … I must confess

Are all the years you will miss

The hardest part of this for me

Are All The Years Yet To Be

I don’t find tears in all we shared

Can’t find them in how much we cared

All the years with you not here

Are now reflected in my tears

We finally had time to be free

Now you’re just a memory

Your crazy - loving - wild side

Found only in sweet slumbers ride

None of this makes me sad

All the good times that we had

I love memories of you and me

It’s … All The Years … Yet To Be

The saddest part … I must confess

Are all the years you will miss

The hardest part of this for me

Are All The Years Yet To Be

The saddest part … I must confess

Are all the years you will miss

All the years with you not here

Are now reflected in my tears

The hardest part will always be

Something that no one can see

All The Years … Yet To Be … for me

© John R. Davis - August 27, 2008

Love and Peace,

John - Dusky is my handle on here

Love you Jack

[LarrysGirl]

John, your poem says what hurts me the most. All the dreams we had, all the plans, all the hope for the future... yet its not to be. My heart hurts for all the years yet to be. Deborah

[MikeC]

John, your poem goes right to the heard what saddens me the most - all the years I will be without Janet and all the dreams she will not have fulfilled. Some time back I was going through some of our papers and came across cards I had saved. On my 50th birthday she gave me a card with lines from a Robert Browning poem:

Grow old with me

The best is yet to be

More than anything I wanted us to grow old together, to enjoy retirement, to play with grandchildren. Janet wanted grandchildren so badly. I am so utterly sad that she never had the chance to enjoy these things.

Thanks for your poem.

Mike

[mlg]

Oh Mike,

I had wanted a park-like bench in granite with that phrase on it for our tombstone, but Tom hated the idea. I told him I wanted something that I could sit on and talk with him and he wanted no part of it so when I went to look for tombstones I had a really hard time because all I could hear was, "no benches".

The card part gets to me too because my birthday was a month after he died and I ran across the card he gave me last year. His mom had been quite sick and eventually died the year before so he wrote, I promise to make your 59th year better that your 58th. But he didn't, it was the most horrible year I had until now. I kept almost all the cards we gave each other and hope that someday I'll take comfort in them but right now they only serve to remind me he isn't here and never will be again.

He always said he wasn't afraid to die, he just didn't want to miss the birthday parties, learning to drive, graduations, marriages, babies, etc.

A friend of mine gave me a "special hankie" and I take it to things so that he is still a part of them.

Mary Linda

[kayc]

John,

Thank you for sharing that beautiful poem. I find I can't let myself think too deeply or it hurts too much, so my heart is kept at bay for the most part...I try not to think of our plans, our dreams, all the things we never got to do...how we always meant to take the back road to Roseburg (where he came from), all the camping trips and fishing we're missing out on, how he won't be there to be "grandpa George" when my kids finally have children, all the cookies I don't get to bake for him, and the nights I don't get to lay my head on his chest or feel his arms around me. Those are all things that are just gone and noone and nothing can replace. Every time I hear Travis Tritt's "Drift off to Dream" I think of my George, for that song so aptly depicted how we felt just before meeting, clear down to the porch swing and being out under the stars! We had dreamed of each other before we met, and when we met, we knew.

Mary Linda,

Why did Tom object to a park bench by his grave? It sounds like a beautiful idea! It's something I might consider putting by George's ashes, along with some flowers, I hadn't decided what to do yet. It's hard for me to believe that three years and 2 1/2 months have gone by already...back then I didn't know that I would even survive. It's going on without them that is so hard. If only we could have gone together. Whether we have a bench or not, we talk to them, in our hearts, whether voiced aloud or not, each and every day.

[Lily]

John, your poem is beautiful. Lily

[mlg]

Kay,

I have no idea why he didn't like the bench idea. I had actually wanted one that had slats ans was going to put on one, Come sit and grow old with me and for the best is yet to be on the one below it and on the other side our names, but we had talked about it even before he got sick and he just said no benches. I even asked if I could just have it on my side and he said NO. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for me but for some reason that was one thing. Several years ago, I told him OK, then I'll just sit over there on so and so's and yell at you when I get to feeble to walk over here.

I know he was just rolling his eyes the other day when I went out there because the had dug the footings and it looked to short and I was trying to figure out how to measure it. I thought well I could always lay down next to it and I should be a little shorter than it should be, but I figured if someone drove by they'd think I was nuts and I'm sure he did. I finally found a bungy cord and I thought it was too small so I called the monument place but she said it was right.

I really wish he would have helped pick this out. I just wanted something really special because he was so special to me. I think he'll be happy with it because the top comes to a point so a "saddle" won't fit on it because he hated those too. I guess he really didn't like cemeteries.

I hope if you decide on a bench that you enjoy it and think of me too when you sit there.

[JoeA]

Thank you John for another beautiful poem. As Mike says, it goes to the heart of the hurt. All that will never be.

Mike, those are the most painful words of all, anytime I see them, "Grow old with me". That was always our hope. We so looked forward to it. Growing old alone seems so empty.

- Joe

[KathyG]

John, what a wonderful poem! I feel honored to have been the inspiration for it.

You're absolutely right; we cry less for our partners than for ourselves, because death has stolen so much of the additional years of love, joy and companionship we thought we would have with them.

The future experiences we wanted so much to share can now never be - and even if we're beginning to rebuild new futures for our solitary lives, that doesn't diminish the anguish we feel from having the old future plans ripped away.

I've always asked myself why I cry so much when I have so many happy memories of Bill to cherish. Now I know why I'm so sad - it's because all my interaction with him from on can only be in memories or in those precious moments when I feel his spirit close to me. We experience so much of other people through their voices, their touch, their physical presence, and it's tough to bear when we no longer have these things in our relationship with our partners.

Edited August 29, 2008 by KathyG