t. garlow

t. garlow

Member for
8 years · 2 months · 20 days
Find A Grave ID
47596724

Bio

For many years now, I have been contacting many relatives and many previously unknown to me relatives, most importantly to just say hi, then maybe to find any photos, links, or stories of our common ancestors, so that they can be shared with ALL of our distant relatives, and all of our Future extended families for many generations to come. Otherwise, these photos will at some point end up just like in the below poem which I recently saw.
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Many individuals in my extended family have done an Excellant job of finding and keeping our families histories and photos intact for 'many' generations now.
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I am just attempting to do my own part in continuing the search with the aid of computers, which my extended family did not have the luxury of using.
They did it the hard way; I Never would have been able to do that.
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So it is with the utmost respect to those in my families who have researched, and or collected and passed down our heritage, that I try to continue their life-long dedication to our ancestors and to all our future generations.
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After many thousands of hours researching on the computer, I would be extremely content if maybe our dedication could play a part in influencing other families to do the same for their own past, present, and future loved ones.
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I want to thank a probable distant cousin, Neil B. -findagrave member 46794418, for his posting the below poems on his profile for others to contemplate.
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I saw them there, and I am now posting the same to maybe motivate others to take an interest in their own ancestors. If you don't take much of an interest in YOUR own families, who do you think will?
Every generation that goes by, loses more and more information and photos that can never be recovered.
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One or more of my cousins will now also be spreading the poems through family history libraries, amongst many current and future genealogists.
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Strangers in the Box" By Pamela A. Harazim
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Come, look with me inside this drawer, In this box I've often seen,
At the pictures, black and white, Faces proud, still, serene.

I wish I knew the people, These strangers in the box,
Their names and all their memories Are lost among my socks.

I wonder what their lives were like. How did they spend their days? What about their special times? I'll never know their ways.

If only someone had taken time To tell who, what, where, when,
These faces of my heritage, Would come to life again.

Could this become the fate Of the pictures we take today?
The faces and the memories Someday to be tossed away?

Make time to save your pictures, Seize the opportunity when it knocks, Or someday you and yours could be The strangers in the box.

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If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
There might be some of them, perhaps,
You wouldn't want to know.

But, here's another question, which
Requires another view,
If you could meet your ancestors,
Would they be proud of you?

---Arkansas Parent-Teacher

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(Another poem I found elsewhere in my researching, may be of comfort to others),

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room,
I am the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

– Mary Frye, 1932
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