In the family tree
My name, my days, my strife
Then I'll ride upon
The wings of time
And live an endless life
I became interested in genealogy about 1974, after my grandmother gave me two large oval framed portraits of her father and grandmother. I hung them on my wall and would sit for hours wondering about them. Who exactly were they, where did they come from. This curiosity has taken me from Lawrenceville, Illinois to Paris, Tennessee. From Hayti, Missouri to Ellistown, Mississippi. From Smithland, Kentucky to Graves County, Kentucky. I have met so many distant cousins. Cousins that had pictures of my ancestors which had been passed down to them. Thank you all. The search as been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. If you find errors on findagrave that I have entered, please message me and I will gladly make the necessary correction. If any of those that I have placed on findagrave are your ancestors, send me a message and I will gladly turn them over to you so you may add your information. I'm not like some who believe they own Find A Grave. So feel free to use any information or pictures I have uploaded. That's what they were placed there for.
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
When a face that was dear, no longer is here
And a voice that was loved is now hushed
It seems as if things went too quickly
It seems as if time was too rushed
But one by one we remember
One by one we recall
All the quite and wonderful moments
And the joys we had in them all
So there’s a great feeling of comfort
When a heart that is grieving and sad
Can remember again and be thankful
For all the sweet hours we had
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush;
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight;
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
TO THOSE WHO SLEEP IN UNMARKED GRAVES: We have searched diligently for your identity, but too many times in vain. You have a right to a stone with your name and dates marking the six feet of earth where you sleep. Many of you once had stones, but time has taken its toll. Your descendants live in faraway places, or are no more. The land has changed ownership many times. The fences are gone and livestock wander your graves. Grasping hands always wanting a few more feet of land, and now your gravesite is lost forever to a subdivision. We know you were placed there by loving hands and broken hearts many years ago. We know that you were happy; you were sad; you laughed; you cried; and that you loved. We gaze in admiration when we find the tall cedar trees, the yellow buttercups, the blue periwinkle or the white bridal wreath blooming each spring for you, and in loyalty to the one who planted them there on your grave - long, long ago.
Search memorial contributions by Robbie Carnell Story