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A remarkable initiative! A wonderful idea! So important not only in the lives of those who stay but also in the lives of those who think about their departure.
Beyond a sentimental inheritance, it is also a precious help to advance on the long, difficult and painful path of mourning. To be able to tell your loved ones how much you love them is of inestimable value and for the loved ones, to keep the image, the voice, the message intact. Thank you Nicolas Duran for this beautiful project.
"Today, it's been 6 years since I've been doing the most beautiful job in the world. I leave my village of 1700 inhabitants after having spent about thirty hours of rest, I jump on the train towards the beautiful capital, to join my colleagues with whom I share my passion.
We are in our twenties, we are military, we are... Firefighters of Paris!
We get up together, we do sports together, we eat together and when the buzzer sounds, the powerful adrenaline electrifies our bodies and we leave without really knowing where we are going. We want to save lives, help people and put out fires that are always higher and hotter.
You, whom I met on intervention. You are quietly going to get your bread on foot or by bike, you are in your car, you are taking the subway or the RER, you are working or celebrating the birth of your son, in short you are simply living.
And suddenly, the moment changes, bad luck strikes, you find yourself caught up in a struggle against pain and you are afraid of sinking permanently. In this fight where the seconds are interminable, it seems that my role of rescuer often turns me into the last confidant... How many times in your suffering have you asked me to bring a message to those who share your life? Sometimes your thoughts were so strong, your gaze so deep that words had no place.
I also think of you who have suffered a departure.
I've heard you scream that you were too late, that you had to call back for days, that you would give anything to say goodbye, to hear the sound of his voice one last time when it's now too late.
And then I think of you.
Who would have thought that you would miss this usually well negotiated turn, great pilot that you were? I think of your son who never saw you, whom you never saw either. He doesn't know it yet, but one day he'll want to know who you were.
He will probably imagine that moment that will never exist, when your photo would come alive with a video that you would have made for him, while you were alive, so that he could finally discover your expressions, your gestures, your intonations, your humor, discover who you were...
So, by dint of these observations and so that it's never too late, I created in 2017, for my own needs, the ps-readme.com platform in order to secure and pass on my sentimental legacy to my loved ones. I modify it regularly according to my desires and my life.
Thus, my most personal audio and video messages will be sent to whomever I wish directly from the website https://www.ps-readme.com/content/11-vos-jardins-secrets
You can choose to tell those you love:
"I want to make your daily life smile if I were to leave you without really knowing where I am going... Tomorrow, if the worst happens to me, the two witnesses I have chosen will inform the ps-readme.com site. From that moment on, you will discover the sentimental legacy I have prepared for you.
I have registered so that you know.
Make good use of it.
Thank you."
What is left of us when we are no longer there?
Other than the memory of a heartthat gave so much love.
The rest is just wind!
- Nadine Monfils - "The dream of a madman"
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But they are not absent!
They left our days happy
But they are still our children!
We keep them in memory
These moments with them shared,
And we hold our sighs
So as not to appear too hurt.
They went away from our eyes
But they are not absent!
We keep them alive in the hollow
From our hearts, eternally!
- Isabelle P.B. 21/09/2019 -
As Christmas approaches, a very special thought to those who have left us and who we miss so much ...
You can tell them,
Santa Claus say?
You can tell them
When you go up to heaven,
That for us here everything is fine.
Even if it's a lie.
And that their absences
Gnawing at us.
Tell their Santa Claus
Tell them that they will not be forgotten.
That they are always there!
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Tell them all this
Tell their Father Christmas
That life down here,
Is lived through our memories.
Lulled by melancholy
With their smiles.
Tell them all this
Tell them everything's fine.
Even if it's a lie,
And that their absences ,
Gnawing at us.
When you go up to heaven,
Only without them, Christmas,
Tastes like a bitter fruit
And that even the fir tree,
In spite of its light clothes,
Don't kill our sorrow.
Tell their Santa Claus.
When you go up to heaven,
If you could,
To bring our tears to them,
And those tears,
Forming a river
Who would flow into your paradise!
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When you come down from the sky,
Why don't you take it,
A bit of them with you.
Just for a moment,
To be in our arms again,
Tighten them tenderly!
Don't forget to tell them.
How much we love them.
And that for us down below.
It's all right, don't forget!
Even if it's a lie,
And their absences,
Gnawing at us!
Tell their Santa Claus
Tell them!"
Love, Memory
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Lost love is still love.
It just takes a different form, that's all.
You can no longer see her smile
Or make him food or tousle his hair.
Or move around on a dance floor.
But when these senses weaken others increase.
Memory.
Memory becomes your partner.
You nourish it. You hold it. You dance with it.
- Mitch Albom -
The hours are dying
In the meantime, on the chair where I am sitting, at night, the sky descends.
All those I think of.
I would like to be in the early days of my childhood. And to come back.
To go to the other side to leave again.
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The rain is falling.
The glass is crying.
We stay alone.
The hours die.
The strong wind carries everything away...
Extract from Pierre REVERDY's poem - "Les yeux inconnus" ("Unknown eyes")
Eternity in your heart
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Let it rain, let it wind
Or that it snows in your life
When the sun shines
And even in adversity
I am here beside you
Near your heart
And I will always be there
Like a white angel
Whose light shines
Right into your heart
For today, for tomorrow
And for all eternity.
- Poem from Florence on "http://poemesdelange.centerblog.net/" -
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A little piece of heaven
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All I have to do now is close my eyelids to see you, stop breathing to smell you, face the wind to guess your breath.
So listen, wherever I am, I will guess your laughter, I will see the smile in your eyes. I will hear the brightness of your voice.
Just knowing that you are here, somewhere on this earth will be, in my hell, my little corner of Paradise.
- Marc Levy -
There are some memories
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There are some memories that do not require memory, you carry them in yourself like a perfume that sticks to your skin, so intoxicated are the heart and base notes that have intoxicated the soul, with an olfactory imprint that will last forever...
- Éclats de Vers - "On the leaf of my thoughts"
All that is beautiful will be you forever!
Anniversary dates
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I have a deep respect for birthdays.
These doors that time has around us
To open our hearts for a moment to its mysteries
And allow the past to travel to us.
I am always surprised by coincidences
Who wink at us from the depths of their memory
By putting happiness on the days of absence
And let us think that nothing is a coincidence.
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For those who have gone to another universe
To reach out to each other with the love that remains to us
To help us sometimes to cross borders.
Is it we who can, across space
Influencing the course of the years in this way?
Or would it be a flap of their grief that is passing away
By placing flowers on the calendar?
There are in any case in the birthdays
A piece of magic that brings out the magic from elsewhere.
The faces or words of our loved ones
Beings that we miss and sleep in our hearts.
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And in the joys they often share with us
Go back to sleep certain that nothing has taken their place
And that their memory has remained with us very sweet.
Without love our life is only a long journey.
A train that takes us through the years
But whoever looks at the landscape a little
Already opens our heart for an eternity.
Beyond words and kindness
There are paths that are difficult to define
Made of memories, love and silence
And that many scientists will tell you they don't know.
They are a privilege at the heart of suffering
A balm for the days you can't forget
Which might appear to be unimportant
But which heal wounds that are difficult to close.
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I have a deep respect for birthdays.
These doors that time has around us
To sometimes open our hearts to its mysteries
And allow the past to travel to us
To sometimes open our hearts to its mysteries
And allow the present to seem softer to us.
- Yves Duteil - (French song)
Love beyond death
Remember ...
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| (At the Père Lachaise cemetery, burial place of Fernand Arbelot (1880-1942) |
Work by sculptor Adolphe Wansart: a bronze lying man holding his wife's mask.
and at the foot of which one can read :
"They were amazed at the beautiful journey that led them to the end of life"
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Remember, when the fearful dawn
Open to the sun its enchanted palace ;
Remember, when the night thinks
Passes by dreaming under its silvery veil ;
To the call of pleasure when your breast palpitates,
To the sweet dreams of the evening when the shadow invites you,
Listening deep in the woods
Whisper a voice :
Remember.
Remember, when destinies
Will have me from you forever separated,
When grief, exile and the years
This desperate heart will have withered;
Think of my sad love, think of the supreme farewell!
Absence and time are nothing when one loves.
As long as my heart beats,
He will always tell you
Remember.
Remember, when under the cold earth
My heart broken forever will sleep ;
Remember, when the lonely flower
On my tomb gently will open.
I will see you no more; but my immortal soul
Will come back to you as a faithful sister.
Listen, in the night,
A groaning voice :
Remember.
- Alfred de Musset -
To be faithful to those who died
You have to keep digging your furrow: straight ahead as they would have done it themselves. As one would have done with them, for them.
To be faithful to those who died is to live as they would have lived. And making them live in us. And to transmit their face, their voice, their message to others, to a son, a brother, or to strangers, to others, whoever they may be.
- Martin Gray - "The Book of Life"
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"Please, Mom, tell them I exist."
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Tell them I exist... Mummy.
One day after another, from defeat to victory,
I saw you gently accepting my departure.
Endless doubts in endless questioning,
Little by little you learn to live the unacceptable.
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And when I feel peace slowly coming in you.
I can see in your heart that anger fades away,
And that it is our love that finally takes its place.
I can see tenderness flooding your smile,
When you think silently about our rare memories.
I can see your face, from where the tears are wiped away,
And where anger and sorrow finally lay down their arms.
So why do you sometimes have this sorrow in your eyes?
And why this pain, which suddenly reappears,
Who leaps like a wild beast when others forget me?
How is it possible, after so much pain,
That they can deny my life and close their hearts to me?
You who had me, Mom, for a few months,
In your belly huddled there, right in the middle of you.
You who gave birth to me, once my life was gone.
Or who saw me live a few days, a few months and die in your arms,
Don't let them lose me again to forgetting.
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There are some among them who say they believe in God,
Although they have not seen it, it exists in their eyes.
So how dare they talk about me,
Say: "We haven't seen him" and then leave it at that? "We didn't know him", "He wasn't alive", "For us you understand him, you didn't have a child"...
It's so much easier to reinvent everything,
Rather than accept my untimely death.
How cowardly they are, Mama, and how I wish they had been,
Let them make a place for me in their reality...
It will be hard again, you will have to fight, to make them understand that I did exist.
That my heart has beaten, lodged in the hollow of you,
And that it is indeed a life that stopped there.
But you won't be alone in such a long struggle,
I'll be there, Mummy, huddled up next to you.
Finally, Mama, please persist, and once again, tell them that I exist...
(Thanks to Jane from WANY-DIMPAY for letting me know about this beautiful tribute, found on the net)
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What will be left of you
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There will be left of you, what you have given.
Instead of keeping it in rusty safes,
There will remain of you, of your secret garden,
A forgotten flower that has not faded.
What you have given, in others will blossom.
He who loses his life, one day will find it.
There will be left of you, what you have offered.
In your open arms, one morning in the sun.
There will be something left of you, what you lost,
That you've been waiting, further than your waking up,
What you have suffered, others will relive.
He who loses his life, one day will find it.
There will be a tear left of you,
A germinated smile, on the eyes of your heart.
What you have sown will remain of you,
That you shared with the beggars of happiness.
What you have sown in others will germinate.
He who loses his life, one day he will find it.
- Michel Scouarnec -
Yes, our bodies will disappear, but ...
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Yes, our hands will disappear ...
But our handshakes, but our greetings, but our farewell gestures, but the invisible path of our caresses ... we are not going to burn them.
Yes, our feet will disappear ...
But the stride of our walks, but the momentum of our runs, but the jump of our games, but the step of our dances and appointments ... we are not going to drown them.
Yes, our faces will disappear and our ears and our lips and our eyes ...
But our smiles, but our listening, but our looks, but our kisses ... we are not going to bury them.
- "A little death on the face" - Gabriel RINGLET - Priest and Theologian
Memory
"As I go to entrust my son's body to the welcoming earth where he will sleep gently next to his own, waiting for me to go to join him, I don't say goodbye, I say to him, see you soon. Because the pain that grips my heart strengthens, with each of its beats, my certainty that it is impossible to love a being so much and to lose him forever. Those we have loved and lost are no longer where they were, but they are still wherever we are. This is called with a beautiful word full of poetry and tenderness: MEMORY."
- Doris LUSSIER -
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