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A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
for as long as we ourselves live,
holding memories in common, a man lives.
His lover will carry his man's scent, his touch:
his children will carry the weight of his love.
One friend will carry his arguements,
another will hum his favourite tunes,
another will still share his terrors.
And the days will pass with baffled faces,
then the weeks, then the months,
then there will be a day when no question is asked,
and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach
and the puffed faces will calm.









And on that day he will not have ceased
but will have ceased to be separated by death.
How long does a man live after all?
A man lives so may different lengths of time.

I miss my dad so much. I visited this site within days of his passing, and regulary come back. I've been to counselling, 
and although I thought I had come to terms with it - I know I haven't. I miss my dad, I miss his presence, 
I miss his voice. I have no-one to talk to now, and even though I find it hard to visit his resting place, I feel I must go 
now - be there near him, to let him know I still care. This is really hard for me, and as I watch my mum, missing my dad, 
her husband, the hurt just builds up. Do we ever get over this? Who knows? I miss my dad so much.'


Hi, currently in the process of organising a funeral for my grandmother. She had no time for churches or religion and 
hated funerals. We were lucky to find a funeral directors in the North West of England who are helping us to provide 
the send off she wanted. The rest of my family weren't convinced about an alternative coffin, but I would have loved 
to send her off in a green bio-degradable wicker basket, or even a rainbow painted cardboard coffin. 

She really wanted it not to be too solemn and insisted we don't wear black. She didn't want any organised religion, 
so we're having a humanist speaker and we'll have a moment for anyone who wants to, to pray. 


Tomorrow we bury Ron's father - a dear sweet man like my Ron, it is my sixth funeral since February (and I hope for it to be my last
for quite sometime) I buried  every age from new born to 82 this year and I am only on the light side of forty years of age.  
We will be using "Living Bouquets" for Gene's funeral - Thank you for that posting, we are in need of a little humor and Gene liked this 
poem but only had an excerpt from it.
30 November 2008 A M Long, Chadds Ford, USA


  




I suddenly lost my best friend and lover of eight years and this is a poem I included in his funeral brochure it has been my mantra in bad times.  
It is excerpts from and a paraphrase of Auden, Tennyson and my Love of and for him, perhaps it will comfort others too..
 

Stop all the clocks, cut off the phone, Silence the music with muffled drum, Bring out the coffin, let mourners come.
Let airplanes circle overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message:   He is Dead

So Sad , so fresh, so strange, the days comforts that are no more

For now: Put out the stars, pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; yield the snow and fragrant laurel, pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood

To honor what was once

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, my laughter and my souls repast   

30 November 2008 A M Long, Chadds Ford, USA

And God Said…

I said, “God, I hurt.”
And God said, “I know”.

I said, “God, I cry a lot.”
And God said, “That is why I gave you tears.”

I said, “God, I am so depressed.”
And God said, “That is why I gave you Sunshine.”

I said, “God, life is so hard.”
And God said, “That is why I gave you loved ones.”

I said, “God, my loved one died.”
And God said, “So did mine.”

I said, “God, it is such a loss.”
And God said, “I saw mine nailed to a cross.”

I said, “God, but your loved one lives.”
And God said, “So does yours.”

I said, “God, where is she now?”
And God said, “Mine is on My right and yours is in the Light.”

I said, “God it hurts.”
And God said, “I know………..”

25 November 2008 Neil Powell, Ireland