Time Experience Thoughts

The Things of Mom On the occasion of her moving out of her home, and giving up and giving away the stuff of her life’s accumulations Things   Whether “dust collector,” simply useful, or family treasure. . .     Impossible to measure. Memories   Regrets? (“Too few to mention.”) Overcome and offset     By a thousand beautiful memories . . . impossible to forget. Reach   An Eternal chain of new “Dollybabes” are the results of her instinctive divine maternal impulses. . .     Impossible to number. Her Soul   The depth and breadth of the tears she wept     on behalf of loved ones here grieved   Echo in the eternal realm and are felt     by dear ones who long before us have left    This frail existence, but who now know where they are what we must here accept     to appreciate thereby the heights with them later to be received.       Her joys and glories and ...

The Center Through the heart and words of a natural mother AND through the heart and works of a natural genealogist, Mom (Grandma Dot) is at the very center of all that is important. Connecting our hearts and the generations.    Looking back (and forward), seeing past an earthy veil    Into the heart. Love no longer lost, the chain no longer frail,     Is now rebuilt and an inherent part . . . Of those we knew. But being separated     Here in our own time . . . And forgotten. Are now recovered and remembered --     With faint inklings sublime. Weak links, now strong. Those long asleep, now awakening,     No longer alone. She, at the center point of our shared existence, connecting     Our Hearts and the Generations. Now one -- and known. (Poem by Scott L. Vanatter, written Feb. 26, 2014, in honor of my Mother’s 80th birthday.)

As Always (Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Great Grandmother, Friend and Genealogist) Every word she speaks Every time we meet . . . No wonder we seek Acceptance, received As always so freely And consistently     Offered No trouble, no matter our grieving There's no end to her reaching     Our souls Never doubting, we believe Nothing wavering, we cleave     Unto her, naturally This is no Dream, but Real . . . And we see     Her Eternally By Scott L. Vanatter, poem written Feb. 25, 2012 for my Mother's 78th birthday.

Gunn Park Summer 2008 Becky and I visited my Mom in Fort Scott, Kansas. We walked at Gunn Park in the mornings. (Pictures from the morning and afternoon.)

Eugene Russell Vanatter Eulogy August 17, 1932 - January 16, 2008 Eulogy delivered by Scott Vanatter, his son, January 22, 2008, in Fort Scott, Kansas. REMEMBER My Mom, our dear mother Dorothy May (Lifer) Vanatter, my sisters Gina and Tracy, the entire family, including Dad’s sisters Loretta and Kathleen, and I . . . thank each one of you for joining with us this morning. Thank you for your loving expressions of care and concern. The good people here at Cheney Witt Funeral Home have offered the most kind and comforting service; our heartfelt thanks to you, Jared, and the whole staff. Tears of Sadness and Joy Today we are here to remember Eugene Russell Vanatter—“Gene” to most of you, including to our Mom . . . but Dad and “Grandpa Gene” to us. It is entirely appropriate that we shed tears of sadness—and also tears of joy—as we remember Dad. DEATH TO UNDERSTAND ETERNAL LIFE Faith whispers to us that life is eternal; that our personal existence does not end upon our death . . . we live o...

By Dorothy Vanatter, my Mom (Poem written in 1954 about me, their new son) He coos and he talks. He laughs and he grins. He’s loved from his sox To both of his chins. His baby blue eyes – How they twinkle and glow. And, oh, when he sighs, Such contentment they show. He brings us such love As none else can do. From heaven above He was sent us, it’s true. He smiles so to say That he loves everyone. That’s our baby boy. That’s our baby son. With a little chubby hand And his tiny baby feet He’ll play in the sand With the kids ‘cross the street. What he’ll need is a pup To tag at his heels, And as he grows up, Share the love that he feels. He’ll grow up like Dad – Be big and be strong. He’ll know what is bad, He’ll know right from wrong. We’ll teach him in love The best that we can. And too soon he’ll grow up And he’ll be a man. And when he is grown In the life that before him, He’ll surely have known How much we adore him. ~ MY COMMENT: This poem by my angel Mother offers beautiful insight...