I don’t know why, but it came as a shock to me that because my son was not married, it was up to his father and me as next of kin to make a whole load of decisions we so did not want to make when he died: cremation or burial; where to bury; casket color and style and open or closed; clothes to dress him in; headstone material, design, size and copy; music … and words.
His dad thought it right that I write something for the funeral “program”, an idea that jarred me to my bones, to say the least. I could not imagine that I could find any words at all … but I did.
Here they are as they appear on the back page of the whatever-the-mortuary-handout-thing-is-called:
Jaren Eli Combes
17 February 1971 – 2 June 2009
The bluest eyes
The sharpest mind
The brightest wit
The kindest soul
The biggest heartFrom tiny baby boy to
Big Guy
In stumbling steps
through 38 years
Reaching
Dreaming
Hoping
Giving
half of his last cookie
the shirt off his back
acceptance without judgement
love without conditionIllustrated composer
repository of memories
assuager of consciences
We laughed and danced in
his quirky brillianceToo James Dean
to stick around too long
We run with the thought of
a rock & roll heavenFind peace, my son
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 
tears. no words.
I know, Lisa. I know. Thank you …
Beautiful!!!!!!!!!!!
xoxoxoxo
Goosebumps. Thank you for sharing.
Cathy
Love you….
What a beautiful poem. How tough it must have been to write.
I was asked years ago to write an obituary for my dear friend and cousin Danny, and it was very tough. This poem was 1,000 times more difficult, I know.
Sometimes feelings don’t want prose, they want poetry. I am coming back to writing some poetry after years of not doing it because I got so burned out in grad school. It feels right.
When you are up to sharing it, I would like to know what happened to your son. I am guessing aneurysm or something similar…
How kind you are to share worldwide those words that only the Red Bluffians and assorted other folk had the privilege to read that day.
I kept the wildflower to plant near the water when I get moved into the new home. It will need a place of honor.
I kept the “whatever-the-mortuary-handout-thing-is-called” and have made a few copies to have at my fingertips when the need to refresh arises.
I keep the love alive in my heart, and find comfort in it.
Thank you for the smile you brought my heart today.
Love you,
Me
Thank you, Bobbi. You have been such a comfort, a true gift.
Love you,
S
It’s February 1988, I was15 years old, a sophmore in high school in Baker City. I saw him from across the gymnasium and and he took my breath away. We met face to face hours later, and for the next two years, he was the light of my life. I was proud to be his girlfriend. I loved watching him play football and basketball. He was so genuine and fun. He was the most amazing person I have ever known. Our relationship did not end well, but he was never far from my heart. Everyone has that one special person that they wish they could find again, and for me, that person was Jaren. I never did get that chance. It has been 21 years since I have seen him, but I have always loved him and I will always miss him. Thank you for the words. I’m thankful for the time that I had with him.
Thank you, Sharron …