There's plenty the scrapblog editor could say about her parents, Alverna and Bill Miller, but for now, it'll suffice to say they were wonderful parents and are deeply missed. Mom died last year (April 24, 2006) in a car accident, and Dad died on March 1, 1996, of malignant melanoma. They are still very alive to their children and grandchildren.
A couple of pretty poems in honor of them:
MUSIC I HEARD
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
-They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
-- Conrad Aiken
THE DEAD
The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity.
They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
and when we lie down in a field or on a couch,
drugged perhaps by the hum of warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them,
which makes them lift their oars and fall silent
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
-- Billy Collins
There's plenty the scrapblog editor could say about her parents, Alverna and Bill Miller, but for now, it'll suffice to say they were wonderful parents and are deeply missed. Mom died last year (April 24, 2006) in a car accident, and Dad died on March 1, 1996, of malignant melanoma. They are still very alive to their children and grandchildren.
A couple of pretty poems in honor of them:
MUSIC I HEARD
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
-They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
-- Conrad Aiken
THE DEAD
The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity.
They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
and when we lie down in a field or on a couch,
drugged perhaps by the hum of warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them,
which makes them lift their oars and fall silent
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
-- Billy Collins
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