Hi there friends and relatives,
I've been enjoying hearing your comments about the new blog. It is fun posting news/events/articles and photos to share. Please feel free to pass the address on to your friends and relatives and to those in your email address books.
The new roof on the beach cabin is finished now and is certainly pretty up there. I had no idea the difference it would make.
The roofer gave us the paperwork and I was shocked to learn that the shingles were guaranteed for 30 years. I told Ted that it gave me a funny thought when I realized someone else would likely enjoy the balance of the good guarantee, unless we live to be really, really old. I've come to know that we must be grateful for every day of our lives and not to waste our time in worrying about the past or thinking too much about the future.
I've experienced five deaths in the past two months and because of what I learned during the aftermath of each, Ted and I spent one entire day getting all our life's paperwork in order. Living wills, power of attorneys, medical directives and regular wills all had to be completed, taken to the notary and signed in her presence. One of the last and best gifts you can give your family is to let them know what you want done in the event of your death and how your wishes are to be carried out in detail. It just simply helps eliminate needless confusion and heartache. There are excellent forms available on the Internet that can be downloaded and completed. Of course, if you are very wealthy or have lots and lots of assets, you might want to see a good attorney.
In honor of Memorial Day weekend, I am posting a writing I did concerning my father, Robert Henry Cannon, who died in WWII. I never saw my biological father and we only found out some time later after his death that he did receive a letter from home with a photograph and that he knew I had been born. May God bless every family who has made the ultimate sacrifice for America's freedom. It affects that family for the rest of each of their lives. I know that for certain.
The Dad I Never Knew
My Daddy was an army soldier
Who fought so America could be free
His giving up his life for us,
Changed everything for me.
When I was little and just learning
Love filled my life and years.
When I hit the teens head on,
There was struggle, thinking, and a few tears.
As I grew older and learned much more,
I found I missed him in the strangest places.
Wondering what he’d really look and be like
And trying to find him in all the strangers’ faces.
I wanted to determine if I was like him,
Or if he were more like me.
Did we laugh alike, smile the same,
Yearn to read and grow, whatever did he see?
My Dad wasn’t here for birthdays and graduation,
There was always just one empty seat.
He couldn’t walk me down the aisle,
Or my new husband and dear friends ever meet.
My little ones that I held so very close,
Never knew his tender touch or care.
His eyes never shone through a nursery glass,
And proudly said, "That’s her, over there!"
Choosing names like Grandpa, Papa, or Grandad,
Was never one of the many decisions they would make.
For us, it just wasn’t in God’s master plan.
And though it’s seldom voiced, there’s always a dull ache.
Reminding me of what life might have been like
Had he lived on through that fateful day of war.
But when all is said and done, in our tight family,
It only makes us all love America, our great country, more!
Although we gave what we sometimes think is far too much,
There are many others who gave the greatest of gifts, too.
So, here’s a warning -- best be careful when you are on our turf,
Of just how you treat Old Glory, our Red, White, and Blue.
For you see, it’s much more than a national symbol
Of love, acceptance, opportunity, pride, and very life.
Because of it, this child did not have an earthly father
And a young handsome husband was taken from his wife.
Many moments found him missing, and being sorely missed
Not just the night the yellow telegram came to our old farm door.
But hundreds of times when memory flecked across our heart
And made the vivid hurting pain a hard, biting, mean oozing sore.
Mostly wondering, wondering, wondering, what he would have done
How he would have acted and reacted, and where we would all be.
Would he have loved me as much as I love him, how did he look?
Are my brown eyes really his, and do I laugh and write on key?
Do my very movements and expressions bring back memories
And cause her eyes to fill ever so slowly with long unshed tears?
As she watches me in worship, in play, learning, and with the kids
And when I tell a funny story, is it his laughter my Mother always hears?
Those who knew him well say that he and I are just alike
I’m grateful, but yet I harbor a yearning to know if it’s really true.
Because, you see, having never seen him, I have no pattern
And I find myself "dreaming him up" almost out of the blue.
Oh, we’ve all gone on and lived our lives, found happiness and joy.
Raised our children, our children’s children, contributed to society.
Still, the haunting question oft rides through my mind and pricks my heart,
If he had come home from war, what would I really be?
Dedicated for Father’s Day to the memory of my dad, Robert Henry Cannon,
killed in action, July 2, 1943, United States Army, fighting for America…
…And in honor of wonderful Beaumont artist Herman Hugg who showed me for the very first time in pictures and in words where and how my Dad gave his life for he, too, was there on that hot, humid island in the summer of ‘43.
Until the next page turns,
Brenda
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