She was Different
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was giving, she was loving,
And we’ll miss her all our days.
There are those who covet fame
And court it like a beau,
There are those who covet wealth,
Kneeling in its glow,
But she was different …
There are some who strive for praise;
They yearn for world applause,
There are some who chase sweet comfort
As their one and only cause,
But she was different …
There are some who race for power,
Sure ‘twill bring them joy,
Some who long for pleasure,
Seeing time an endless toy,
But she was different …
Her legacy was friendship,
She was so giving of her time,
Her bequest was her faith in God,
Her children: her books of rhyme.
She knew sorrow in great measure,
And was strong by illness, too,
But neither could defeat her,
Nothing her faith subdue.
And when she heard death coming,
She didn’t cower in fear,
Instead she called out boldly,
“My Lord, I’m over here.”
“I’m going home to be with mother,”
She told me, her eyes aglow,
“I’ll see my dad and husband,
They’re waiting there, I know.”
Of course, the Lord will welcome her,
With His angels magnifying
The beauty of that celestial place,
Devoid of pain and crying.
And so instead of mourning
As we remember her this hour,
We really should be celebrating
The blooming of a flower.
For heaven will be much richer
When she puts her pen to rhyme,
Describing golden avenues
With lyrical sublime.
But forgive us, Lord, for pining,
For wishing she were here,
It’s hard to give up someone
We have come to love so dear.
Because you see—
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was loving, she was giving,
And we’ll miss her,
Miss her,
Miss her, all our days.
This poem was read at mama's funeral(with permission)
by her niece, Sandra Montjoy
It describes her perfectly.
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was giving, she was loving,
And we’ll miss her all our days.
There are those who covet fame
And court it like a beau,
There are those who covet wealth,
Kneeling in its glow,
But she was different …
There are some who strive for praise;
They yearn for world applause,
There are some who chase sweet comfort
As their one and only cause,
But she was different …
There are some who race for power,
Sure ‘twill bring them joy,
Some who long for pleasure,
Seeing time an endless toy,
But she was different …
Her legacy was friendship,
She was so giving of her time,
Her bequest was her faith in God,
Her children: her books of rhyme.
She knew sorrow in great measure,
And was strong by illness, too,
But neither could defeat her,
Nothing her faith subdue.
And when she heard death coming,
She didn’t cower in fear,
Instead she called out boldly,
“My Lord, I’m over here.”
“I’m going home to be with mother,”
She told me, her eyes aglow,
“I’ll see my dad and husband,
They’re waiting there, I know.”
Of course, the Lord will welcome her,
With His angels magnifying
The beauty of that celestial place,
Devoid of pain and crying.
And so instead of mourning
As we remember her this hour,
We really should be celebrating
The blooming of a flower.
For heaven will be much richer
When she puts her pen to rhyme,
Describing golden avenues
With lyrical sublime.
But forgive us, Lord, for pining,
For wishing she were here,
It’s hard to give up someone
We have come to love so dear.
Because you see—
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was loving, she was giving,
And we’ll miss her,
Miss her,
Miss her, all our days.
This poem was read at mama's funeral(with permission)
by her niece, Sandra Montjoy
It describes her perfectly.
She was Different
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was giving, she was loving,
And we’ll miss her all our days.
There are those who covet fame
And court it like a beau,
There are those who covet wealth,
Kneeling in its glow,
But she was different …
There are some who strive for praise;
They yearn for world applause,
There are some who chase sweet comfort
As their one and only cause,
But she was different …
There are some who race for power,
Sure ‘twill bring them joy,
Some who long for pleasure,
Seeing time an endless toy,
But she was different …
Her legacy was friendship,
She was so giving of her time,
Her bequest was her faith in God,
Her children: her books of rhyme.
She knew sorrow in great measure,
And was strong by illness, too,
But neither could defeat her,
Nothing her faith subdue.
And when she heard death coming,
She didn’t cower in fear,
Instead she called out boldly,
“My Lord, I’m over here.”
“I’m going home to be with mother,”
She told me, her eyes aglow,
“I’ll see my dad and husband,
They’re waiting there, I know.”
Of course, the Lord will welcome her,
With His angels magnifying
The beauty of that celestial place,
Devoid of pain and crying.
And so instead of mourning
As we remember her this hour,
We really should be celebrating
The blooming of a flower.
For heaven will be much richer
When she puts her pen to rhyme,
Describing golden avenues
With lyrical sublime.
But forgive us, Lord, for pining,
For wishing she were here,
It’s hard to give up someone
We have come to love so dear.
Because you see—
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was loving, she was giving,
And we’ll miss her,
Miss her,
Miss her, all our days.
This poem was read at mama's funeral(with permission)
by her niece, Sandra Montjoy
It describes her perfectly.
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was giving, she was loving,
And we’ll miss her all our days.
There are those who covet fame
And court it like a beau,
There are those who covet wealth,
Kneeling in its glow,
But she was different …
There are some who strive for praise;
They yearn for world applause,
There are some who chase sweet comfort
As their one and only cause,
But she was different …
There are some who race for power,
Sure ‘twill bring them joy,
Some who long for pleasure,
Seeing time an endless toy,
But she was different …
Her legacy was friendship,
She was so giving of her time,
Her bequest was her faith in God,
Her children: her books of rhyme.
She knew sorrow in great measure,
And was strong by illness, too,
But neither could defeat her,
Nothing her faith subdue.
And when she heard death coming,
She didn’t cower in fear,
Instead she called out boldly,
“My Lord, I’m over here.”
“I’m going home to be with mother,”
She told me, her eyes aglow,
“I’ll see my dad and husband,
They’re waiting there, I know.”
Of course, the Lord will welcome her,
With His angels magnifying
The beauty of that celestial place,
Devoid of pain and crying.
And so instead of mourning
As we remember her this hour,
We really should be celebrating
The blooming of a flower.
For heaven will be much richer
When she puts her pen to rhyme,
Describing golden avenues
With lyrical sublime.
But forgive us, Lord, for pining,
For wishing she were here,
It’s hard to give up someone
We have come to love so dear.
Because you see—
She was different, she was special,
Unique in a thousand ways,
She was loving, she was giving,
And we’ll miss her,
Miss her,
Miss her, all our days.
This poem was read at mama's funeral(with permission)
by her niece, Sandra Montjoy
It describes her perfectly.
Inscription
MEET ME THERE
Family Members
Siblings
