May had a long and productive life! One would say "She was equal to all life required of her". Family and friends know her as "MAY". Mom was born on a cold windy day in February of 1921, about ten miles South East of Ashton Idaho, in a log house, to Harry L Benson and Anna A Cherry. Shortly thereafter the family moved to Farnum, Idaho and lived in a three room framed home on a dry farm.
I would not have you weep when I am gone,
Nor say, "We should have done it thus or so,"
I shall have risen to a fairer dawn,
Than you have ever seen, and I shall know.
Too much of peace to countenance regret,
Too much of joy to want your sorrow's breath.
I only ask that you will not forget,
Will love me in the interim called death.
Poem by Christie L Cole.
I would not have you weep when I am gone,
Nor say, "We should have done it thus or so,"
I shall have risen to a fairer dawn,
Than you have ever seen, and I shall know.
Too much of peace to countenance regret,
Too much of joy to want your sorrow's breath.
I only ask that you will not forget,
Will love me in the interim called death.
Poem by Christie L Cole.
May had a long and productive life! One would say "She was equal to all life required of her". Family and friends know her as "MAY". Mom was born on a cold windy day in February of 1921, about ten miles South East of Ashton Idaho, in a log house, to Harry L Benson and Anna A Cherry. Shortly thereafter the family moved to Farnum, Idaho and lived in a three room framed home on a dry farm.
I would not have you weep when I am gone,
Nor say, "We should have done it thus or so,"
I shall have risen to a fairer dawn,
Than you have ever seen, and I shall know.
Too much of peace to countenance regret,
Too much of joy to want your sorrow's breath.
I only ask that you will not forget,
Will love me in the interim called death.
Poem by Christie L Cole.
I would not have you weep when I am gone,
Nor say, "We should have done it thus or so,"
I shall have risen to a fairer dawn,
Than you have ever seen, and I shall know.
Too much of peace to countenance regret,
Too much of joy to want your sorrow's breath.
I only ask that you will not forget,
Will love me in the interim called death.
Poem by Christie L Cole.
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Talented Wife, Mother & Friend
