Some memories fade, but the feeling remains.
This is for anyone who ever served quietly, felt forgotten, or needed a gentle reminder that their presence mattered.
A poem for my St. John chapter—
still a part of me, even in silence. 🌿🤍

I remember the uniform,
crisp sleeves folded with care—
the way you stood in still lines,
even when your heart wavered.

I remember the weight of moments,
lessons held in folded hands,
the pulse beneath your gloves,
how you listened, how you stayed.

The page is gone,
the faces faded,
but you—
you are still here.

Not forgotten.
Not erased.
You were there.
You gave.
You mattered.

And even if the world
never claps or says your name—
your quiet courage
still echoes like a song
only the moon and I remember.

So cry, dear heart.
Cry for what’s gone.
And when you’re ready,
we’ll walk gently forward
together.