Rebecca Church
  • Female
  • Troy, New York
  • United States Minor Outlying Islands
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At 7:20pm on October 21, 2017, Carla said…

Thank you for your kind message, Rebecca - I agree - we are all in a club we never wanted to join, but we are connected as I believe our loved ones are also connected where they are - watching over us. And they are truly healed and whole now - that's what I believe.

At 5:17pm on October 21, 2017, Carla said…

Rebecca - I saw your posting today. I haven't posted in quit sometime. Our son left this life in December of 2009. It will be 8 years and I can't get my head around that. I guess we walk in two worlds, the one here and the one that is out of step with our loved one. I know time passes but it feels like forever and it feels like yesterday. I carry the sorrow a bit better now, but it takes a lot of energy to remember and talk to others. My heart and prayers are with you today. I think of all the people that post here. It helped me a lot. Love to all.

At 4:19pm on October 21, 2017, Rebecca Church said…

To my dear big brother Tim....I miss you just as much today as I did yesterday and will miss you even more tomorrow. I love you so much and wish I could see you one more time. I wrote this for you:

Just one more time....

Just one more time please reach for my hand
and grasp it with your own,
don't let go and hold on tight
like you did before I was grown.

Just one more time come walk with me
let time move at a snail's pace,
we'll roam the hills and sit in the sun
while I gaze upon your beautiful face.

Just one more time come play the music
that sounds like Heaven's Angels to my ears,
and sing the lyrics to my heart
so I may carry it through all my years.

Just one more time please dance with me
like we did not so long ago,
burn the moment to my memory
so I'll remember it when you go.

Just one more time please make me laugh
like you always knew how to do,
draw the cartoons and make all the faces
like you did when I was blue

Just one more time please smile for me
make those twinkling Irish eye's dance,
let me see you one more time,
even if it's just a passing glance.

Just one more time please talk with me
like we did so many times before.
So I can tell you once again
that your a Brother I'll always adore.

Just one more time before you go
take a glance back my way,
I'll be the one cherishing your memory
knowing we'll see each other again one day.

written by Beckie Church for her brother Tim

At 8:08am on October 3, 2013, Rebecca Church said…

Doesn't Anyone Realize?

Stop the rain,
shade all the sun,
put out the stars
one by one.

Make the grass stop growing,
flowers go to bed.
Doesn't anyone realize,
my dear Brother is dead?

Close up the shops,
shut down the stores,
seal up the shutters,
and lock up the doors.

Turn off the radios,
birds go to bed,
Doesn't anyone realize
my dear Brother is dead?

Stop all the clocks,
turn off the phone,
tell all the neighbors
that no one is home.

Shut all the drapes,
turn down the beds,
Doesn't anyone realize,
my dear brother is dead?

Tell the moon to stop glowing
clouds stop moving the sky,
lightening bugs to stop blinking
frogs please stop chirping your cry.

Please tell my heart to stop wheeping,
please tell my tears not to shed
Doesn't anyone realize
my dear Brother is dead?

written by Rebecca Church for Tim.

At 8:06am on October 3, 2013, Rebecca Church said…

A Poem for Dad - my Best friend:

My Job Here Is Done

Dad died as he lived, with pride and grace
Surrounded by ones that he loved
squeezed his wifes hand, looked at his kids
and said “My job here is done”.

We tried to prepare, best as we could
Having those long conversations
Knowing too well, cancer had spread
Heaven was to be his destination

We laid him to rest on a bright summer day
We all stood at his grave
As each gun sounded their awful toll
I thought of this life so brave

He signed up for war so early in life
Never had traveled far from home
Shipped away to far off lands
To his country, he did atone

He came home, went to work
Raised children and taught them values
Never boasted of what he’d done
To his country he was true

Generations followed after the war
Some even protested the fight
Never mentioned what he gave up
So they could have this right

Spent many a night speaking with Dad
As he told of the war stories
never once did he speak of himself
but raved of others glory

The day he died we made a promise
He would now receive his glory
Collected the pictures, woodcrafts and hats
Wrote a poem to tell his story

Arranged the items his hands created
Brought them to the funeral parlor
Assembled the pictures, uniform too
Navy shots for this man with valor

Made sure the bluegrass played for him
As the mourners took their place
Our eyes filled with tears when we looked up
His comrades stood bowed with grace

Boys now men aged by years
Some barely able to stand
Quietly removing each of their hats
Each one saluted this man

Each came forward to shake our hands
Pride and tears filled their eyes
Listed the names of those that weren’t there
Other brave men, too, had died

At the end of the evening we said goodbye
So proud of a life now done
Kissed his forehead, “Dad, we love you,
For Kin and Country, your job here is done”.

I love you Dad. Thank you for letting me be your daughter and friend. XO

At 8:00am on October 3, 2013, Rebecca Church said…

The Old Blue Chair

There was an old blue chair from my childhood long ago,
it wasn't very sturdy and it wobbled to and fro.

It's paint was chipped and pealing and it's frame no longer straight,
there were coffee stains upon its seat that resembled figure eights.

It had no dollar value, this chair once the color blue,
but it's memories are priceless because it reminds me of you.

You may not be aware of what meant most to me,
of what I understood, what my young eyes did see.

Although the years between our ages may be quite a few,
you still took time to understand this kid staring back at you.

There were days when I was lonely, friends were very few,
my family would be busy with whatever chores they had to do.

I would climb the stairs one by one until I reached the top,
and open my big brothers door, he never made me knock.

He would be seated on the side of his bed with his guitar in his hands,
you could hear the wealth of his talent as his fingers strummed the strands.

He never scowled or looked annoyed when he saw me in the door,
he would just smile and go on playing as I took my favorite spot on the floor.

I could spend all day in that room beside that old blue chair,
listening to his guitar play as his music filled the air.

From time to time he would pause briefly and write a line or two,
using the seat of the old blue chair that once was the color blue.

He always made up silly songs to keep me occupied,
or make funny faces until my childhood tears where dry.

He took the time to notice this kid that was staring back,
he understood it could be lonely being the youngest in the pack.

It didn't matter to him, how childish my request,
from eating mud pies made of sand to tea parties as my honored guest.

But favorite dolls and tea party games never could compare,
to the memories I hold so dear about that old blue chair.

You see, it was so special, my childhood days of old,
those days that are so long ago and more valuable than gold.

So I tell you now big brother, how dear you are to my heart,
those childhood memories are important to me and you played such a big part.

Thank you for being a big brother I didn't have to fear,
for not running away and closing the door whenever I came near.

So if someone should ask me about my childhood cares,
I'll think of you fondly, and that old blue chair.

I wrote this poem for my brother approx. 3 months before he took his life.


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