THESE MEMORIALS REPRESENT REAL PEOPLE THAT WERE LOVED, AND CONTINUE TO BE LOVED BY FAMILY AND FRIENDS! THEY DESERVE RESPECT IN THEIR MANAGEMENT!

After joining Find a Grave over 7+ years ago, our family has worked hard on linking family members, adding missing information, correcting wrong information, adding photos, adding memorials, etc. of family members, friends, and members of the communities we have lived in and were and are affiliated with, etc, - having over 2,800+ approved Edit Requests, (plus all the edits completed on the memorials managed on # 50011334). These are historical records; they need to be accurate and complete! As a historian, published historical author, and genealogist, I do not understand managers that care only about the number of memorials they can accumulate, and not the accuracy and completeness of them.

I want to say we greatly appreciate the members of the Find a Grave Community who are very conscientious about managing the memorials that are under their care. This type of manager(s) should be recognized for their hard work and dedication! We Thank You!!! To my knowledge, currently there is no recognition of any sort for these type of managers, unfortunately.

We believe in the statements in the Find a Grave rules, two of which that are under Memorial Management Corrections / Additions says: "The Find a Grave community works together to update memorials and we are all collaborating towards a common goal." And "Find a Grave memorials are works in progress". Please send supporting documentation in the "Notes" section with edit requests. We do verify information submitted in edit requests.

Also under the "Request To Manage" Section which says: "Please show sensitivity to immediate and extended family members and their requests.
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It should be noted that in some of these smaller community cemeteries and family cemeteries that are not "Perpetual Care", that WE are also the physical grave caretakers of our family graves and friends' graves! In some cases, the graves are still even dug and closed by hand.

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THE CLOCK OF LIFE

The clock of life is wound but once. And no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, On what day - or what hour.

Now is the only time you have, So live it with a will. Don't wait until tomorrow - The hands may then be still.

Author - Unknown

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Always a silent hurt,

many a silent tear,

but always a beautiful memory,

of one we loved so dear.

God gave us strength to bear it,

and courage to take the blow,

but what it meant to lose you,

no one will ever know.

Author Unknown

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"Every time an old person dies, it's like a library burning down." – Alex Haley

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THE DASH

I read of a man who stood to speak at a funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning…to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke of the following date with tears

but said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth

and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own, the cars…the house…the cash.

What matters is how we lived and loved and how we spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard; are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left that still can be rearranged.

To be less quick to anger and show appreciation more

and love the people in our lives like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile…

remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read, with your life's actions to rehash,

would you be proud of the things they say about how you lived your dash?

Author - Linda Ellis

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ANCESTORS

If you could see your ancestors

All standing in a row,

There might be some of them, perhaps,

You wouldn't want to know.

But, here's another question, which

Requires another view,

If you could meet your ancestors,

Would they be proud of you?

--Arkansas Parent-Teacher

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THE CENSUS TAKER

It was the first day of census, and all through the land;

The pollster was ready ... a black book in hand.

He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride;

His book and some quills were tucked close by his side.

A long winding ride down a road barely there;

Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air.

The woman was tired, with lines on her face;

And wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.

She gave him some water ... as they sat at the table;

And she answered his questions ... the best she was able.

He asked of her children ... Yes, she had quite a few;

The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.

She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red;

his sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.

She noted each person who lived there with pride;

And she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.

He noted the sex, the color, the age ...

The marks from the quill soon filled up the page.

At the number of children, she nodded her head;

And saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.

The places of birth she "never forgot";

Was it Kansas? or Utah? or Oregon ... or not?

They came from Scotland, of that she was clear;

But she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here.

They spoke of employment, of schooling and such;

They could read some ... and write some ...though really not much.

When the questions were answered, his job there was done;

So he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun.

We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear;

"May God bless you all for another ten years."

Now picture a time warp ... its' now you and me;

As we search for the people on our family tree.

We squint at the census and scroll down so slow;

As we search for that entry from long , long ago.

Could they only imagine on that long ago day;

That the entries they made would effect us this way?

If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel;

And the searching that makes them so increasingly real.

We can hear if we listen the words they impart;

Through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart.

Author Unknown

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STRANGERS IN THE BOX

Come, look with me inside this drawer, In this box I've often seen,

At the pictures, black and white, Faces proud, still, serene.

I wish I knew the people, These strangers in the box,

Their names and all their memories Are lost among my socks.

I wonder what their lives were like. How did they spend their days? What about their special times? I'll never know their ways.

If only someone had taken time To tell who, what, where, when,

These faces of my heritage, Would come to life again.

Could this become the fate Of the pictures we take today?

The faces and the memories Someday to be tossed away?

Make time to save your pictures, Seize the opportunity when it knocks, Or someday you and yours could be The strangers in the box.

Author - Pamela A. Harazim

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THE STORY TELLERS

We are the chosen. My feelings are, in each family, there is one who seems called to find the ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to tell the family story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. To me, doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all those who have gone before. We are the storytellers of the tribe. All tribes have one. We have been called, as it were, by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: Tell our story.

Author Unknown

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Lord, help me dig into the past

And sift the sands of time,

That I might find the roots that made

This family tree of mine.

Lord, help me trace the ancient roads

On which my father's trod,

And led them through so many lands

To find our present sod. Lord, help me find an ancient book

Or dusty manuscript,
That's safely hidden now away

In some forgotten crypt. Lord, let it bridge the gap that haunts

My soul when I can't find,
The missing link between some name

That ends the same as mine.

-- Author Unknown

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THOSE WE LOVE

"Those we love don't go away, they walk beside us everyday...unseen, unheard, but always near, still loved, still missed, and very dear."

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"If the dead be truly dead, why should they still be walking in my heart?"

Winnenap-----Shoshone Medicine Man

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The Ancestor

Your tombstone stands among the rest;

Neglected and alone.

The name and date are chiseled out 

On polished, marbled stone.

It reaches out to all who care 

It is too late to mourn.

You did not know that I exist

You died and I was born.

Yet each of us are cells of you 

In flesh, in blood, in bone.

Our blood contracts and beats a pulse 

Entirely not our own.

Dear Ancestor, the place you filled 

One hundred years ago 

Spreads out among the ones you left 

Who would have loved you so.

I wonder if you lived and loved,

I wonder if you knew 

That someday I would find this spot,

And come to visit you.

~ Walter Butler Palmer (1906)

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Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave,

A lonely mossy mound;

And yet to hearts like mine and thine,

It should be holy ground.

Speak softly, let no careless laugh,

Nor idle thoughtless jest,

escape your lips where sweetly sleeps this hero in his rest.

For him no reveille will beat,

When morning beams shall come;

For him, at night, no tattoo rolls

Its thunders from the drum.

Tread lightly! for a man bequeathed,

here laid beneath this sod,

His ashes to his native land,

His gallant soul to God.

- PEARL RIVERS

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I like the old Egyptian proverb:

"To speak the name of the dead causes them to live again."

I have also heard that in Mexican Hispanic culture they believe there are 3 Deaths:

1st death is your physical death,

2nd death is when your body is buried, cremated, etc.

3rd death is the last time your name is ever spoken.

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