My beloved Uncle Sherrill passed away at Slidell Memorial Hospital on Thursday, October 25, 2012, at around 6:00 a.m.
He had been battling cancer and kidney failure.
I will always remember him as a handsome, graceful, talented, artistic, poetic, loving, unpretentious, no-nonsense but tenderhearted person who wasn't afraid to be a real man and who always had a smile and a hug for me.
Who could forget his eloquence when he quoted every word of William Cullen Bryant's "Thanatopsis"? Not this smitten niece.
In 1984 he married Judy Welch Sandifer and was deliriously happy with her for twenty-eight years. She loves him still.
He was the beloved father of Ronald "Ronnie" (Lys) Fuchs, Jeffrey (Janice) Fuchs, Thomas Anthony Sandifer, Monica Sandifer (Charles) Jenkins, and Stephanie B. (Bryan) Robertson.
In addition he was the devoted stepfather of Timmothy (Gina) Bellott and Jennifer A. Bellott.
Sherrill was the second child and eldest son of the late Dorsey R. Sandifer and Mary Elizabeth Cassidy Sandifer, both of whom preceded him in death.
He was the younger brother of my mother, Ann Sandifer Dykstra, and the big brother of Linda Sandifer Greene and Dorsey R. "Dody" Sandifer, Jr.
Sherrill is also survived by twelve grandchildren and three great grandchildren.
Born in Brookhaven, Mississippi, Sherrill was a former longtime resident of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He and Judy had lived in Slidell for the past twenty-three years.
My Uncle Sherrill had been a member of the Slidell B.P.O.E. Lodge since 1989. In 1996 he served as Exalted Ruler.
Throughout his life he was a stellar automotive mechanic and an avid fisherman. He was also a wonderful cook.
Funeral services were held on Saturday, October 27, 2012, at Honaker Funeral Home in Slidell.
=0=0=0=
THANATOPSIS
TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
~William Cullen Bryant~
=0=0=0=
He had been battling cancer and kidney failure.
I will always remember him as a handsome, graceful, talented, artistic, poetic, loving, unpretentious, no-nonsense but tenderhearted person who wasn't afraid to be a real man and who always had a smile and a hug for me.
Who could forget his eloquence when he quoted every word of William Cullen Bryant's "Thanatopsis"? Not this smitten niece.
In 1984 he married Judy Welch Sandifer and was deliriously happy with her for twenty-eight years. She loves him still.
He was the beloved father of Ronald "Ronnie" (Lys) Fuchs, Jeffrey (Janice) Fuchs, Thomas Anthony Sandifer, Monica Sandifer (Charles) Jenkins, and Stephanie B. (Bryan) Robertson.
In addition he was the devoted stepfather of Timmothy (Gina) Bellott and Jennifer A. Bellott.
Sherrill was the second child and eldest son of the late Dorsey R. Sandifer and Mary Elizabeth Cassidy Sandifer, both of whom preceded him in death.
He was the younger brother of my mother, Ann Sandifer Dykstra, and the big brother of Linda Sandifer Greene and Dorsey R. "Dody" Sandifer, Jr.
Sherrill is also survived by twelve grandchildren and three great grandchildren.
Born in Brookhaven, Mississippi, Sherrill was a former longtime resident of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He and Judy had lived in Slidell for the past twenty-three years.
My Uncle Sherrill had been a member of the Slidell B.P.O.E. Lodge since 1989. In 1996 he served as Exalted Ruler.
Throughout his life he was a stellar automotive mechanic and an avid fisherman. He was also a wonderful cook.
Funeral services were held on Saturday, October 27, 2012, at Honaker Funeral Home in Slidell.
=0=0=0=
THANATOPSIS
TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
~William Cullen Bryant~
=0=0=0=
My beloved Uncle Sherrill passed away at Slidell Memorial Hospital on Thursday, October 25, 2012, at around 6:00 a.m.
He had been battling cancer and kidney failure.
I will always remember him as a handsome, graceful, talented, artistic, poetic, loving, unpretentious, no-nonsense but tenderhearted person who wasn't afraid to be a real man and who always had a smile and a hug for me.
Who could forget his eloquence when he quoted every word of William Cullen Bryant's "Thanatopsis"? Not this smitten niece.
In 1984 he married Judy Welch Sandifer and was deliriously happy with her for twenty-eight years. She loves him still.
He was the beloved father of Ronald "Ronnie" (Lys) Fuchs, Jeffrey (Janice) Fuchs, Thomas Anthony Sandifer, Monica Sandifer (Charles) Jenkins, and Stephanie B. (Bryan) Robertson.
In addition he was the devoted stepfather of Timmothy (Gina) Bellott and Jennifer A. Bellott.
Sherrill was the second child and eldest son of the late Dorsey R. Sandifer and Mary Elizabeth Cassidy Sandifer, both of whom preceded him in death.
He was the younger brother of my mother, Ann Sandifer Dykstra, and the big brother of Linda Sandifer Greene and Dorsey R. "Dody" Sandifer, Jr.
Sherrill is also survived by twelve grandchildren and three great grandchildren.
Born in Brookhaven, Mississippi, Sherrill was a former longtime resident of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He and Judy had lived in Slidell for the past twenty-three years.
My Uncle Sherrill had been a member of the Slidell B.P.O.E. Lodge since 1989. In 1996 he served as Exalted Ruler.
Throughout his life he was a stellar automotive mechanic and an avid fisherman. He was also a wonderful cook.
Funeral services were held on Saturday, October 27, 2012, at Honaker Funeral Home in Slidell.
=0=0=0=
THANATOPSIS
TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
~William Cullen Bryant~
=0=0=0=
He had been battling cancer and kidney failure.
I will always remember him as a handsome, graceful, talented, artistic, poetic, loving, unpretentious, no-nonsense but tenderhearted person who wasn't afraid to be a real man and who always had a smile and a hug for me.
Who could forget his eloquence when he quoted every word of William Cullen Bryant's "Thanatopsis"? Not this smitten niece.
In 1984 he married Judy Welch Sandifer and was deliriously happy with her for twenty-eight years. She loves him still.
He was the beloved father of Ronald "Ronnie" (Lys) Fuchs, Jeffrey (Janice) Fuchs, Thomas Anthony Sandifer, Monica Sandifer (Charles) Jenkins, and Stephanie B. (Bryan) Robertson.
In addition he was the devoted stepfather of Timmothy (Gina) Bellott and Jennifer A. Bellott.
Sherrill was the second child and eldest son of the late Dorsey R. Sandifer and Mary Elizabeth Cassidy Sandifer, both of whom preceded him in death.
He was the younger brother of my mother, Ann Sandifer Dykstra, and the big brother of Linda Sandifer Greene and Dorsey R. "Dody" Sandifer, Jr.
Sherrill is also survived by twelve grandchildren and three great grandchildren.
Born in Brookhaven, Mississippi, Sherrill was a former longtime resident of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He and Judy had lived in Slidell for the past twenty-three years.
My Uncle Sherrill had been a member of the Slidell B.P.O.E. Lodge since 1989. In 1996 he served as Exalted Ruler.
Throughout his life he was a stellar automotive mechanic and an avid fisherman. He was also a wonderful cook.
Funeral services were held on Saturday, October 27, 2012, at Honaker Funeral Home in Slidell.
=0=0=0=
THANATOPSIS
TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
~William Cullen Bryant~
=0=0=0=
