Barry Allen Plooster

(March 22, 1963 - August 14, 2010)

SIOUX CITY -- Barry Allen Plooster, 47, of Sioux City, IA passed away unexpectedly Saturday, August 14, 2010, at his residence.

Barry was born March 22, 1963, in Akron, IA, the son of Cleo John and Bernice Mae (Olson) Plooster.

He is survived by his lifelong loving companion, Grace Hopkins; two brothers, Bennie Plooster and his wife Ann of Sioux City and Brian Plooster and his wife Mi Sun of Junction City, KS; a step- daughter, Tara (Mayfield) and her husband Jeff Johnson of Sioux City,two daughters, Brandy Barnes and Roseann Plooster, both of Houston, TX; a step- son, Shawn and his wife, Eva Mayfield of Kansas City, MO; eleven grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren.

He was preceded in death by his parents; one brother; and one sister.

Memorial services will be 6 to 8 p.m. Saturday, Sept. 11, at the Lake Forest Mobile Home Park, 3700 28th Street, in Sioux City. Arrangements are under the direction of Waterbury Funeral Service in Sergeant Bluff, IA.

"May the Great Spirit always be by your side, leading your soul along a river of joy."

A GOLDEN HEART

A golden heart stopped beating

Hard working hands at rest

It broke our hearts to see you go,

God only takes the best

They say that memories are golden,

Well maybe that is true,

But we never wanted memories,

We only wanted you,

Your life was love and labour,

Your love for your family true,

You did your best for all of us,

We will always remember you.

We sat beside your bedside,

Our hearts were crushed and sore,

We did our duty to the end,

'Til we could do no more.

In tears we watched you sinking,

We watched you fade away,

And though our hearts were breaking,

We knew you could not stay.

Our lips cannot speak how we loved you,

Our hearts cannot tell what to say,

But God only knows how we miss you,

In our home that is lonely today.

Added by Grace:

Please Ask Someone asked me about you today.

It's been so long since anyone has done that. It felt so good to talk about you, to share my memories of you, to simply say your name out loud. She asked me if I minded talking about what happened to you — or would it be too painful to speak of it. I told her I think of it every day and speaking about it helps me to release the tormented thoughts whirling around in my head. She said she never realized the pain would last this long. She apologized for not asking sooner. I told her, "Thanks for asking." I don't know if it was curiosity or concern that made her ask, But told her, "Please do it again sometime — soon." — Barbara Taylor Hudson