Joe's Place
Oct. 24th, 2004 01:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rayvyn2kAs you know, last weekend my husband and I went to visit my dad in north-central Florida. My dad had invited the whole family to be there for the internment of my brother's ashes and the dedication of the site of the internment. This entry is to show you some photos of the site, some of the family and a couple of the poems which were read at the dedication.
First of all, I have to say what an amazing job my Dad did. He, his wife and her sister designed and built this beautiful area themselves.
Here's a view of the entire site.
This is a close-up of Joe's resting place. The marker says "Brown, Albert Joseph, III "Our Joe" 1960-2003".
Here is the swing that my dad built. He modified one of those kits you can buy, making it stronger and adding about a hundred layers of wax. He said that thing will never rot! Oh, that's my nephew Jeffrey enjoying the swing.
The actual internment was private, only the immediate family was allowed to attend. No pictures were taken. It was very touching and sad and uplifting all at the same time. The urns containing his ashes were put into the box (there were two because last year the ashes were split up). After that, everyone was asked if they wanted to say anything or add something to the box. I put in a copy of what I wrote the night he died, which you all may have read from a few entries ago. My sister put in a picture of her with Joe when they were about five and three years old and a blown glass eagle from her son. (My brother collected eagle figurines). I don't remember if my brother Jeff added anything to the box, but my daughter asked that a picture of her, her fiance and their baby be added. We hugged and cried, I don't really remember what was said.
The next day was the dedication of the site. Dad gathered everyone together and made a little speech in which he said he hoped that this would bring closure to everyone, that it was time to let Joe go and move forward with our lives and that was what he intended to do. Then he invited others to speak.
My stepmother saying a few words.
My cousin wrote a poem which she gave me permission to reprint here:
JOE BROWN
THEN AND NOW
First of all,
there is that hair
that curls from around
a baseball cap
and frames a face
that holds a grin
that’s split between
a thoughtful muse
or a hearty laugh
and almost conceals
a painful twinge
or a cry for help
that is nearly lost
in the day to day life
of the little boy
inside the man
who only needed
a bit of sky
and a quiet place
to rest in peace
to try to remember
the way his life
might have been.
I read what I had written the night he died, several people made spontanious remarks and my sister also read a poem; again reprinted here with her permission.
Thank You Brother
Thank you for always being there,
For the special and true understanding we shared.
Thank you for all of the words not said,
In order to help a broken heart to mend.
Thank you for all of the laughter we shared,
And for the hugs which always showed how much you cared.
Thank you for the bad times we had to go through,
And for all of those times when I needed you.
Thank you for standing through the years by my side,
And also for the comfort when tears I could not hide.
Thank you for easing and pulling me through,
Thank you most especially for being my Brother, for being you.
After everyone who wanted to speak had their say, my stepfather Jack got his guitar and played and sang "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton. Last year, at the funeral, I read the lyrics to that song. I also read a poem I would like to include with this entry:
"Funeral Blues"
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good. W. H. Auden
After Jack finished singing, we hugged and cried and wandered back to the house for dinner. My sister made lasagna and there was salad and garlic toast also. The rest of the weekend was spent visiting, talking, laughing, eating and just enjoying each other's company.
I have two more pictures I want to share. I think it is appropriate to end this with a look at the future of our family.
The first one is my dad with my grandson Nathan who is four months old:
Dad and Nathan
The next one is Dad with Tyler who is one month old:
Dad and Tyler
Cut so those with a slow connection don't curse me for all the photos! You have been warned!
First of all, I have to say what an amazing job my Dad did. He, his wife and her sister designed and built this beautiful area themselves.
The actual internment was private, only the immediate family was allowed to attend. No pictures were taken. It was very touching and sad and uplifting all at the same time. The urns containing his ashes were put into the box (there were two because last year the ashes were split up). After that, everyone was asked if they wanted to say anything or add something to the box. I put in a copy of what I wrote the night he died, which you all may have read from a few entries ago. My sister put in a picture of her with Joe when they were about five and three years old and a blown glass eagle from her son. (My brother collected eagle figurines). I don't remember if my brother Jeff added anything to the box, but my daughter asked that a picture of her, her fiance and their baby be added. We hugged and cried, I don't really remember what was said.
The next day was the dedication of the site. Dad gathered everyone together and made a little speech in which he said he hoped that this would bring closure to everyone, that it was time to let Joe go and move forward with our lives and that was what he intended to do. Then he invited others to speak.
My cousin wrote a poem which she gave me permission to reprint here:
THEN AND NOW
there is that hair
that curls from around
a baseball cap
and frames a face
that holds a grin
that’s split between
a thoughtful muse
or a hearty laugh
and almost conceals
a painful twinge
or a cry for help
that is nearly lost
in the day to day life
of the little boy
inside the man
who only needed
a bit of sky
and a quiet place
to rest in peace
to try to remember
the way his life
might have been.
I read what I had written the night he died, several people made spontanious remarks and my sister also read a poem; again reprinted here with her permission.
For the special and true understanding we shared.
Thank you for all of the words not said,
In order to help a broken heart to mend.
Thank you for all of the laughter we shared,
And for the hugs which always showed how much you cared.
Thank you for the bad times we had to go through,
And for all of those times when I needed you.
Thank you for standing through the years by my side,
And also for the comfort when tears I could not hide.
Thank you for easing and pulling me through,
Thank you most especially for being my Brother, for being you.
After everyone who wanted to speak had their say, my stepfather Jack got his guitar and played and sang "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton. Last year, at the funeral, I read the lyrics to that song. I also read a poem I would like to include with this entry:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good. W. H. Auden
After Jack finished singing, we hugged and cried and wandered back to the house for dinner. My sister made lasagna and there was salad and garlic toast also. The rest of the weekend was spent visiting, talking, laughing, eating and just enjoying each other's company.
I have two more pictures I want to share. I think it is appropriate to end this with a look at the future of our family.
The first one is my dad with my grandson Nathan who is four months old:
The next one is Dad with Tyler who is one month old:
Cut so those with a slow connection don't curse me for all the photos! You have been warned!
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Date: 10/24/04 01:45 pm (UTC)