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Larry Wayne Hernandez closed his eyes in final rest, awaiting the resurrection on December 8, 2012 at around 3 a.m. Larry was the second
son of my Uncle Daniel Hernandez and Rena Wiseman Hernandez.
When Larry was a little boy I sat with him while his parents worked and the nightingale song is the one I sang to him.
The word changed to soothe him, a combination of songs, some of which were my own.
Sing sweet Nightingale, sing sweet Nightingale,
In the trees that softly whisper, sing the Nightingale
Sing sweet Nightingale, Sing Sweet Nightingale,
Sing to our Little Boy while he sleeps so well.
Sing Sweet Nightingale, Sing Sweet Nightingale.
Larry requested his ashes be spread on the north forty
‘Neath the trees there, no doubt where the Nightingale will
sing for him.
Who knows the working of this universe. The last few days through the
learned discipline of fighting off depression with my Rhonda’s cerebral
palsy made me necessarily will my mind to go on to the next task. There seemed to be a heaviness hanging over me.
There always is a lilting lifting of our spirits by and through the artist,
Walt Disney. The little cat and his muddy tracks made me laugh as I remembered the hole in the drive where Larry found a fun, muddy play area, every time my back was turned.
Bathing and changing clothes some days made his little pressed knit shirts in the drawer dwindle down to the point where washing them was necessary. Larry hung around the ironing board while sitting on the counter to watch me press those tiny garments.
For what ever makes a boy child curious one day he touched the iron which caused us to have to sit at the sink for an hour with cold water running over the sting on his tiny finger.
From that experience I learned to hire a lady to do my cleaning and ironing while my son was that size, and later to totally ignore the house while my grandson and I rocked in the big old overstuffed rocking chair.
Soon mankind will work themselves into a perfect world where little boys will grow up strong and never have to know anything irregular. The lovely song of the Nightingale as they grow into manhood is what they will remember and these will go forth to continually create a better world for the children and their mothers.
Larry Wayne Hernandez closed his eyes in final rest, awaiting the resurrection on December 8, 2012 at around 3 a.m. Larry was the second
son of my Uncle Daniel Hernandez and Rena Wiseman Hernandez.
When Larry was a little boy I sat with him while his parents worked and the nightingale song is the one I sang to him.
The word changed to soothe him, a combination of songs, some of which were my own.
Sing sweet Nightingale, sing sweet Nightingale,
In the trees that softly whisper, sing the Nightingale
Sing sweet Nightingale, Sing Sweet Nightingale,
Sing to our Little Boy while he sleeps so well.
Sing Sweet Nightingale, Sing Sweet Nightingale.
Larry requested his ashes be spread on the north forty
‘Neath the trees there, no doubt where the Nightingale will
sing for him.
Who knows the working of this universe. The last few days through the
learned discipline of fighting off depression with my Rhonda’s cerebral
palsy made me necessarily will my mind to go on to the next task. There seemed to be a heaviness hanging over me.
There always is a lilting lifting of our spirits by and through the artist,
Walt Disney. The little cat and his muddy tracks made me laugh as I remembered the hole in the drive where Larry found a fun, muddy play area, every time my back was turned.
Bathing and changing clothes some days made his little pressed knit shirts in the drawer dwindle down to the point where washing them was necessary. Larry hung around the ironing board while sitting on the counter to watch me press those tiny garments.
For what ever makes a boy child curious one day he touched the iron which caused us to have to sit at the sink for an hour with cold water running over the sting on his tiny finger.
From that experience I learned to hire a lady to do my cleaning and ironing while my son was that size, and later to totally ignore the house while my grandson and I rocked in the big old overstuffed rocking chair.
Soon mankind will work themselves into a perfect world where little boys will grow up strong and never have to know anything irregular. The lovely song of the Nightingale as they grow into manhood is what they will remember and these will go forth to continually create a better world for the children and their mothers.
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