Prayers & thanks to all who took up the slack for me this month. Had serious spine surgery, but mending now; forgive my missing flowers & notes...,
God has marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear
And Heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all His children suffer here
~William Cullen Bryant
We Pray it is So......
Brad is a son of Shirleen Craig and Edward Wayne Farley. He attended grade school in Castledale and Layton, Utah and graduated from Calaveras High School, San Andreas, Calaveras County, California.
He is the only brother of Gordon Wayne Farley. Brad was an excellent auto mechanic and worked in excavation construction and in home manufacturing.
He was injured from a dirt bike accident which caused fatal spinal meningitis.
Loved beyond words and greatly missed.
NOW....... MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED, and I thought I could add the poem written for you in 1990, but the tears still blind my effort:
~~~HAT FULL OF MEMORIES~~~
Your cowboy hat rests on the shelf
It beckons me to touch
To see if there is warmth inside
Or a scent I miss so much.
I touch the soft felt to my face
And smell the leather band;
Your face appears, I hear your voice
And feel your strong young hand.
My mind, returning to your birth,
Hears what the doctor said,
"You've got yourself a little boy
And his curly hair is red!"
The cowboy hats that came and went
Perched on that curly head
Worn every day from dawn to dusk -
"I'm a cowboy like my Dad", you said.
From ponies, then to pickup trucks
We watched you work and grow
Into a kind, young man - our Son;
And, Oh, we loved you so!
You made us proud -
And helped our family grow;
When heaven called you home,
We couldn't let you go!
We fought and prayed to have you stay
But nothing made you well
The pain we faced when you were gone,
No written words can tell.
We placed your favorite cowboy hat
Upon the grave that day.
We couldn't bear to leave it,
So we brought it home to stay.
And, like some other treasures,
Which you have left behind
We cling to each memento
For memories which bind.
We pray that with the passing days,
Our wounded hearts will heal
For, within that hat are memories,
Not time nor death can steal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~Written in Memory of BRADLEY WAYNE FARLEY By Shirleen C. Farley, 1990
~~~HIS CELESTIAL CHILD~~~
God sent a precious son to us,
To cherish for awhile;
He had Blessed this Special Spirit
As His Celestial Child.
He came for just his body
And he didn't need to stay;
God wanted us to bond with him,
Then send him on his way.
The only times we really see
How God suffered for His Son,
Is when walking in His footsteps
And doing as He's done.
Although we feel love stolen
And worldly dreams undone,
When earthly trials are over,
We'll raise this Special Son.
He's back with Heavenly Father
Where Celestial Life transcends;
We know his life's not ended;
It really, now, begins!
Composed with Hope for the Future by Shirleen C. Farley, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HIS FATHER'S POCKET KNIFE
I opened up his cedar box, and slowly looked inside;
It was a very special place for memories to hide.
I couldn't help but pick it up - his tiny pocket knife,
The pearl handled treasure of our boy who'd lost his life.
The tears filled up my eyes as soon as it was touched;
After fifteen years of grieving, how could I hurt so much?
I pictured his excited face, as Dad gave it to him;
As, Mother, I was worried "for loss of life or limb"!
One blade, and it was only about two inches and a half,
I always worried "far too much"; and how his Dad did laugh!
"Oh, Mother, you have got to give this little boy some room;
He's growing up and he will be a young man very soon!"
As time went on, it was so tough to give my worries rest.
Then he grew into a fine young man, and we felt very blessed.
We can't deny them room to grow, to spread their wings and fly;
You only hold your breath so long, as they reach to touch the sky!
Years sped by, and after while, I tried to let it go.
I couldn't keep them little boys; we had to let them grow.
And joys were there, as he explored this fragile, mortal life
His treasures meant so much to him, such as his Father's knife.
But a Mother never loses that hope to keep them near;
She never has the courage to wipe away her fear.
Her sons are always little boys she tries to keep from strife;
That memory now cuts so deep - his first new pocket knife.
~Shirleen C. Farley April 2000
Dedicated to Brad, September 1962 ~ April 1985
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
We are connected...my child and I
By an invisible cord, not seen by the eye.
It's not like a cord that connects us 'til birth;
This cord can't be seen by any on earth.
The cord does its work, right from the start;
It binds us together...attached to my heart.
I know that it's there...though no one can see
The invisible cord from my child to me.
The strength of this cord is hard to describe;
It can't be destroyed...it can't be denied.
It's stronger than any cord man could create.
It withstands the test...can hold any weight.
Though you are gone and not here with me,
This cord remains, but no one can see...
It pulls at my heart...I am bruised...I am sore,
But the cord is my lifeline, as never before.
I am thankful that God connects us this way-
A mother to child....death can't take it away!
----Author Unknown----
God has marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear
And Heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all His children suffer here
~William Cullen Bryant
We Pray it is So......
Brad is a son of Shirleen Craig and Edward Wayne Farley. He attended grade school in Castledale and Layton, Utah and graduated from Calaveras High School, San Andreas, Calaveras County, California.
He is the only brother of Gordon Wayne Farley. Brad was an excellent auto mechanic and worked in excavation construction and in home manufacturing.
He was injured from a dirt bike accident which caused fatal spinal meningitis.
Loved beyond words and greatly missed.
NOW....... MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED, and I thought I could add the poem written for you in 1990, but the tears still blind my effort:
~~~HAT FULL OF MEMORIES~~~
Your cowboy hat rests on the shelf
It beckons me to touch
To see if there is warmth inside
Or a scent I miss so much.
I touch the soft felt to my face
And smell the leather band;
Your face appears, I hear your voice
And feel your strong young hand.
My mind, returning to your birth,
Hears what the doctor said,
"You've got yourself a little boy
And his curly hair is red!"
The cowboy hats that came and went
Perched on that curly head
Worn every day from dawn to dusk -
"I'm a cowboy like my Dad", you said.
From ponies, then to pickup trucks
We watched you work and grow
Into a kind, young man - our Son;
And, Oh, we loved you so!
You made us proud -
And helped our family grow;
When heaven called you home,
We couldn't let you go!
We fought and prayed to have you stay
But nothing made you well
The pain we faced when you were gone,
No written words can tell.
We placed your favorite cowboy hat
Upon the grave that day.
We couldn't bear to leave it,
So we brought it home to stay.
And, like some other treasures,
Which you have left behind
We cling to each memento
For memories which bind.
We pray that with the passing days,
Our wounded hearts will heal
For, within that hat are memories,
Not time nor death can steal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~Written in Memory of BRADLEY WAYNE FARLEY By Shirleen C. Farley, 1990
~~~HIS CELESTIAL CHILD~~~
God sent a precious son to us,
To cherish for awhile;
He had Blessed this Special Spirit
As His Celestial Child.
He came for just his body
And he didn't need to stay;
God wanted us to bond with him,
Then send him on his way.
The only times we really see
How God suffered for His Son,
Is when walking in His footsteps
And doing as He's done.
Although we feel love stolen
And worldly dreams undone,
When earthly trials are over,
We'll raise this Special Son.
He's back with Heavenly Father
Where Celestial Life transcends;
We know his life's not ended;
It really, now, begins!
Composed with Hope for the Future by Shirleen C. Farley, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HIS FATHER'S POCKET KNIFE
I opened up his cedar box, and slowly looked inside;
It was a very special place for memories to hide.
I couldn't help but pick it up - his tiny pocket knife,
The pearl handled treasure of our boy who'd lost his life.
The tears filled up my eyes as soon as it was touched;
After fifteen years of grieving, how could I hurt so much?
I pictured his excited face, as Dad gave it to him;
As, Mother, I was worried "for loss of life or limb"!
One blade, and it was only about two inches and a half,
I always worried "far too much"; and how his Dad did laugh!
"Oh, Mother, you have got to give this little boy some room;
He's growing up and he will be a young man very soon!"
As time went on, it was so tough to give my worries rest.
Then he grew into a fine young man, and we felt very blessed.
We can't deny them room to grow, to spread their wings and fly;
You only hold your breath so long, as they reach to touch the sky!
Years sped by, and after while, I tried to let it go.
I couldn't keep them little boys; we had to let them grow.
And joys were there, as he explored this fragile, mortal life
His treasures meant so much to him, such as his Father's knife.
But a Mother never loses that hope to keep them near;
She never has the courage to wipe away her fear.
Her sons are always little boys she tries to keep from strife;
That memory now cuts so deep - his first new pocket knife.
~Shirleen C. Farley April 2000
Dedicated to Brad, September 1962 ~ April 1985
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
We are connected...my child and I
By an invisible cord, not seen by the eye.
It's not like a cord that connects us 'til birth;
This cord can't be seen by any on earth.
The cord does its work, right from the start;
It binds us together...attached to my heart.
I know that it's there...though no one can see
The invisible cord from my child to me.
The strength of this cord is hard to describe;
It can't be destroyed...it can't be denied.
It's stronger than any cord man could create.
It withstands the test...can hold any weight.
Though you are gone and not here with me,
This cord remains, but no one can see...
It pulls at my heart...I am bruised...I am sore,
But the cord is my lifeline, as never before.
I am thankful that God connects us this way-
A mother to child....death can't take it away!
----Author Unknown----
Prayers & thanks to all who took up the slack for me this month. Had serious spine surgery, but mending now; forgive my missing flowers & notes...,
God has marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear
And Heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all His children suffer here
~William Cullen Bryant
We Pray it is So......
Brad is a son of Shirleen Craig and Edward Wayne Farley. He attended grade school in Castledale and Layton, Utah and graduated from Calaveras High School, San Andreas, Calaveras County, California.
He is the only brother of Gordon Wayne Farley. Brad was an excellent auto mechanic and worked in excavation construction and in home manufacturing.
He was injured from a dirt bike accident which caused fatal spinal meningitis.
Loved beyond words and greatly missed.
NOW....... MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED, and I thought I could add the poem written for you in 1990, but the tears still blind my effort:
~~~HAT FULL OF MEMORIES~~~
Your cowboy hat rests on the shelf
It beckons me to touch
To see if there is warmth inside
Or a scent I miss so much.
I touch the soft felt to my face
And smell the leather band;
Your face appears, I hear your voice
And feel your strong young hand.
My mind, returning to your birth,
Hears what the doctor said,
"You've got yourself a little boy
And his curly hair is red!"
The cowboy hats that came and went
Perched on that curly head
Worn every day from dawn to dusk -
"I'm a cowboy like my Dad", you said.
From ponies, then to pickup trucks
We watched you work and grow
Into a kind, young man - our Son;
And, Oh, we loved you so!
You made us proud -
And helped our family grow;
When heaven called you home,
We couldn't let you go!
We fought and prayed to have you stay
But nothing made you well
The pain we faced when you were gone,
No written words can tell.
We placed your favorite cowboy hat
Upon the grave that day.
We couldn't bear to leave it,
So we brought it home to stay.
And, like some other treasures,
Which you have left behind
We cling to each memento
For memories which bind.
We pray that with the passing days,
Our wounded hearts will heal
For, within that hat are memories,
Not time nor death can steal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~Written in Memory of BRADLEY WAYNE FARLEY By Shirleen C. Farley, 1990
~~~HIS CELESTIAL CHILD~~~
God sent a precious son to us,
To cherish for awhile;
He had Blessed this Special Spirit
As His Celestial Child.
He came for just his body
And he didn't need to stay;
God wanted us to bond with him,
Then send him on his way.
The only times we really see
How God suffered for His Son,
Is when walking in His footsteps
And doing as He's done.
Although we feel love stolen
And worldly dreams undone,
When earthly trials are over,
We'll raise this Special Son.
He's back with Heavenly Father
Where Celestial Life transcends;
We know his life's not ended;
It really, now, begins!
Composed with Hope for the Future by Shirleen C. Farley, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HIS FATHER'S POCKET KNIFE
I opened up his cedar box, and slowly looked inside;
It was a very special place for memories to hide.
I couldn't help but pick it up - his tiny pocket knife,
The pearl handled treasure of our boy who'd lost his life.
The tears filled up my eyes as soon as it was touched;
After fifteen years of grieving, how could I hurt so much?
I pictured his excited face, as Dad gave it to him;
As, Mother, I was worried "for loss of life or limb"!
One blade, and it was only about two inches and a half,
I always worried "far too much"; and how his Dad did laugh!
"Oh, Mother, you have got to give this little boy some room;
He's growing up and he will be a young man very soon!"
As time went on, it was so tough to give my worries rest.
Then he grew into a fine young man, and we felt very blessed.
We can't deny them room to grow, to spread their wings and fly;
You only hold your breath so long, as they reach to touch the sky!
Years sped by, and after while, I tried to let it go.
I couldn't keep them little boys; we had to let them grow.
And joys were there, as he explored this fragile, mortal life
His treasures meant so much to him, such as his Father's knife.
But a Mother never loses that hope to keep them near;
She never has the courage to wipe away her fear.
Her sons are always little boys she tries to keep from strife;
That memory now cuts so deep - his first new pocket knife.
~Shirleen C. Farley April 2000
Dedicated to Brad, September 1962 ~ April 1985
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
We are connected...my child and I
By an invisible cord, not seen by the eye.
It's not like a cord that connects us 'til birth;
This cord can't be seen by any on earth.
The cord does its work, right from the start;
It binds us together...attached to my heart.
I know that it's there...though no one can see
The invisible cord from my child to me.
The strength of this cord is hard to describe;
It can't be destroyed...it can't be denied.
It's stronger than any cord man could create.
It withstands the test...can hold any weight.
Though you are gone and not here with me,
This cord remains, but no one can see...
It pulls at my heart...I am bruised...I am sore,
But the cord is my lifeline, as never before.
I am thankful that God connects us this way-
A mother to child....death can't take it away!
----Author Unknown----
God has marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear
And Heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all His children suffer here
~William Cullen Bryant
We Pray it is So......
Brad is a son of Shirleen Craig and Edward Wayne Farley. He attended grade school in Castledale and Layton, Utah and graduated from Calaveras High School, San Andreas, Calaveras County, California.
He is the only brother of Gordon Wayne Farley. Brad was an excellent auto mechanic and worked in excavation construction and in home manufacturing.
He was injured from a dirt bike accident which caused fatal spinal meningitis.
Loved beyond words and greatly missed.
NOW....... MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED, and I thought I could add the poem written for you in 1990, but the tears still blind my effort:
~~~HAT FULL OF MEMORIES~~~
Your cowboy hat rests on the shelf
It beckons me to touch
To see if there is warmth inside
Or a scent I miss so much.
I touch the soft felt to my face
And smell the leather band;
Your face appears, I hear your voice
And feel your strong young hand.
My mind, returning to your birth,
Hears what the doctor said,
"You've got yourself a little boy
And his curly hair is red!"
The cowboy hats that came and went
Perched on that curly head
Worn every day from dawn to dusk -
"I'm a cowboy like my Dad", you said.
From ponies, then to pickup trucks
We watched you work and grow
Into a kind, young man - our Son;
And, Oh, we loved you so!
You made us proud -
And helped our family grow;
When heaven called you home,
We couldn't let you go!
We fought and prayed to have you stay
But nothing made you well
The pain we faced when you were gone,
No written words can tell.
We placed your favorite cowboy hat
Upon the grave that day.
We couldn't bear to leave it,
So we brought it home to stay.
And, like some other treasures,
Which you have left behind
We cling to each memento
For memories which bind.
We pray that with the passing days,
Our wounded hearts will heal
For, within that hat are memories,
Not time nor death can steal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~Written in Memory of BRADLEY WAYNE FARLEY By Shirleen C. Farley, 1990
~~~HIS CELESTIAL CHILD~~~
God sent a precious son to us,
To cherish for awhile;
He had Blessed this Special Spirit
As His Celestial Child.
He came for just his body
And he didn't need to stay;
God wanted us to bond with him,
Then send him on his way.
The only times we really see
How God suffered for His Son,
Is when walking in His footsteps
And doing as He's done.
Although we feel love stolen
And worldly dreams undone,
When earthly trials are over,
We'll raise this Special Son.
He's back with Heavenly Father
Where Celestial Life transcends;
We know his life's not ended;
It really, now, begins!
Composed with Hope for the Future by Shirleen C. Farley, 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HIS FATHER'S POCKET KNIFE
I opened up his cedar box, and slowly looked inside;
It was a very special place for memories to hide.
I couldn't help but pick it up - his tiny pocket knife,
The pearl handled treasure of our boy who'd lost his life.
The tears filled up my eyes as soon as it was touched;
After fifteen years of grieving, how could I hurt so much?
I pictured his excited face, as Dad gave it to him;
As, Mother, I was worried "for loss of life or limb"!
One blade, and it was only about two inches and a half,
I always worried "far too much"; and how his Dad did laugh!
"Oh, Mother, you have got to give this little boy some room;
He's growing up and he will be a young man very soon!"
As time went on, it was so tough to give my worries rest.
Then he grew into a fine young man, and we felt very blessed.
We can't deny them room to grow, to spread their wings and fly;
You only hold your breath so long, as they reach to touch the sky!
Years sped by, and after while, I tried to let it go.
I couldn't keep them little boys; we had to let them grow.
And joys were there, as he explored this fragile, mortal life
His treasures meant so much to him, such as his Father's knife.
But a Mother never loses that hope to keep them near;
She never has the courage to wipe away her fear.
Her sons are always little boys she tries to keep from strife;
That memory now cuts so deep - his first new pocket knife.
~Shirleen C. Farley April 2000
Dedicated to Brad, September 1962 ~ April 1985
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
We are connected...my child and I
By an invisible cord, not seen by the eye.
It's not like a cord that connects us 'til birth;
This cord can't be seen by any on earth.
The cord does its work, right from the start;
It binds us together...attached to my heart.
I know that it's there...though no one can see
The invisible cord from my child to me.
The strength of this cord is hard to describe;
It can't be destroyed...it can't be denied.
It's stronger than any cord man could create.
It withstands the test...can hold any weight.
Though you are gone and not here with me,
This cord remains, but no one can see...
It pulls at my heart...I am bruised...I am sore,
But the cord is my lifeline, as never before.
I am thankful that God connects us this way-
A mother to child....death can't take it away!
----Author Unknown----
