Perhaps God is a poet
who writes with words
of flesh and bone and leaf and flower . . .
Every hour of every day,
words pour out of the Poet’s heart,
and every word is beautiful and true and worth the telling.
And when each poem is perfect,
and there is no more which ought to be said,
the Poet gently takes the words back into His heart
where they are safe forever . . . and then begins again.
(author unknown)
In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, June 15th, 2011, Cowboy reached out for and held both of my hands. He had long since ceased being able to converse, but i knew what he was trying to say. He slowly laid back against the pillowy coccoon we had created in our bed for him. And as i told him over and over how much i loved him, as we held hands one last time and i silently cried, he left this earth behind. He gave many gifts in his final days, but the peacefulness of his passing, our fingers entwined together, was one of his greatest. He passed with dignity and grace, and as heavy as our hearts are, we cannot help but celebrate him.
Donald William Poppell
August 20,1955 - June 15, 2011
Cowboy, I love you.
PS-thank you all for your kind comments and healing love, hugs, and prayers. Cowboy was helping me plan the Treehouse Tea Party, but sadly, I couldn't get it together.
However, in spirit of celebration and to further honor the memories of Cowboy and Baby, as encouraged by our beloved hostess Vanessa, here are the posts from our previous tea party shenanigans here at the Treehouse:
Love and hugs, Roo & the Lost Boys (& Cowboy-in-spirit)
