- Member for
- 11 years · 1 month · 20 days
- Find a Grave ID
Please take note that any pictures taken as a request by myself will be used for my ancestry.com family tree. I started to really get into genealogy in about 2010. I utilize this as well as other websites. If I take a photo for you, you may do as you like with it.
I enjoy helping others with their genealogy and I have a lot of info especially for the Westchester, NY area.
I will be happy to transfer anyone to you that is not near and dear to my heart. Please tell me your relationship and if you are closer to the person that I am, I will transfer them to you. I have recently added veterans from Westchester, NY that are buried in Yonkers. Most of them are not related to me. In addition. most of the people that I have added photos and other info for in North Carolina are also not related to me and I would be glad to transfer them.
Also, if you do not hear from me right away, please resend your message in a few weeks. Like anyone else, I go through busy periods.
I have just found out that I need a person's contributor ID in order to transfer a person to them. Please include it with any messages for transfer that you send me.
Another issue that I have dealt with recently pertains to the issue of edits. Most edits will go directly to the required block, for instance, name, birth date, death date, etc. however, information that goes in the "bio" section gets e-mailed to the original person that set-up the memorial and they need to copy and past it into the "bio" box (for instance an obituary or info from the familysearch.com website).
"THE RECORDING OF A CEMETERY
BY THELMA GREENE REAGAN
Today we walked where others walked
On a lonely, windswept hill;
Today we talked where others cried
For Loved Ones whose lives are stilled.
Today our hearts were touched
By graves of tiny babies;
Snatched from the arms of loving kin,
In the heartbreak of the ages.
Today we saw where the grandparents lay
In the last sleep of their time;
Lying under the trees and clouds -
Their beds kissed by the sun and wind.
Today we wondered about an unmarked spot;
Who lies beneath this hollowed ground?
Was it a babe, child, young or old?
No indication could be found.
Today we saw where Mom and Dad lay.
We had been here once before
On a day we'd all like to forget,
But will remember forevermore.
Today we recorded for kith and kin
The graves of ancestors past;
To be preserved for generations hence,
A record we hope will last.
Cherish it, my friend; preserve it, my friend,
For stones sometimes crumble to dust
And generations of folks yet to come
Will be grateful for your trust."
WE ARE THE CHOSEN:
We are the chosen. In each family, there is one who seems called to find the ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to tell the family story, and to feel that somehow they know and approve. Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before. We are the storytellers of the tribe. All tribes have one. We have been called, as it were, by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us, "Tell our story!" So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before now and cried? I have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors, "You have a wonderful family; you would be proud of us." How many times have I walked up to a grave and felt somehow there was love there for me? I cannot say. It goes beyond just documenting facts. It goes to who am I and why do I do the things I do. It goes to seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and saying, "I can't let this happen." The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our ancestors were able to accomplish, how they contributed to what we are today. It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, they're never giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for their family. It goes to deep pride that the fathers fought and some died to make and keep us a Nation. It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us. It is of equal pride and love that our mothers struggled to give us birth. Without them, we could not exist, and so we love each one, as far back as we can reach. That we might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are they and they are the sums of who we are. So, as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take my place in the long line of family storytellers. That is why I do my family genealogy, and that is what calls those young and old to step up and restore the memory or greet those whom we had never known before.
-Author Unknown (Please feel free to use this quote as I think the 'Author Unknown' had very special insight)
A LIMB HAS FALLEN
A limb has fallen from the family tree. I keep hearing a voice that says, Grieve not for me.
Remember the best times, the laughter, the song. The good life I lived while I was strong. Continue my heritage, I'm counting on you. Keep smiling and surely the sun will shine through.
My mind is at ease, my soul is at rest.
Remembering all, how I truly was blessed. Continue traditions, no matter how small. Go on with your life, don't worry about falls I miss you all dearly, so keep up your chin. Until the day comes we're together again.
"THE CLOCK OF LIFE"
The clock of life is wound but once.
And no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop.
On what day - or what hour.
Now is the only time you have.
So live it with a will.
Don't wait until tomorrow.
The hands may then be still.
Author - Unknown.
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.
Author- Walter Butler Palmer