A poem for our special angel

In loving memory of our treasured son

CHRISTOPHER A. FRANKS

June 24th 1981 - Oct. 21st 1998

They'll never be another you, if you'd search from sea to sea.
That nose, those eyes, that bottom lip, the product of mommy and me.
Your heart, you got from mommy, as big as a clear blue sky.
Attitude came from your daddy, too tough of a man to cry.
~ ~ ~
Your soul you got from God, who needed a special friend.
Someone to sit beside him, until the bitter end.
We're proud of all the things you've done, we hold our heads up high.
We're hurt, we weren't given a chance, to say our last goodbyes.
~ ~ ~
Soon people won't remember you, or all the things you've done.
Or remember how you made them laugh, until that day had come.
But be assured our baby, we will never forget.
For the hole thats torn with in our hearts, is larger than our debts.
~ ~ ~
The tears just keep coming morning, noon, and night.
There hasn't been a dry eye, since you've left our sight.

Mommy and me, we pray for you each and every day.
Looking toward that special time, when you open the gates and say,
I love you mommy and daddy, now you’re here with me to stay.

You are forever loved & missed. Love, Mom & Dad,

Mark and Charlotte Franks

Dear God in Heaven

Dear god in heaven, why must it be?
He was so young, just turned seventeen.
His smile will be with us forever,
that grin that he'd give - oh he thought he was clever.
~ ~ ~
We argued at times, this much is true;
but the love that we felt, always came through.
His eyes would sparkle, he lit up our lives;
through good times and bad, he'd say we'll get by.
~ ~ ~
He'd say I love you guys, as he walked out the door,
don't worry about me, I've said it before.
  I'm all grown up, I'm bigger than you,
I told you daddy, I'm gonna be like you. 
~ ~ ~
I'm going to the navy, to become a seal,
to serve my country, yes I'm for real.
  Dad, tell mom to trust me and give me some space,
I won't let her down or lie to her face.
~ ~ ~
Oh, son I am sorry. Oh why wasn't it me?
I've lived my life, but you were just seventeen.


by Mark Franks, Christopher’s father

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