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4 tree(s) planted in memory of Daniel Powell
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3 trees were planted in memory of Daniel Powell
Friday, July 31, 2020
3 trees were planted in memory of
Daniel McRae Powell
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In loving memory of our cousin Danny and his passion and love for the outdoors. May you Rest In Peace. Love and hugs from the Wagners and Heplers Join in honoring their life - plant a memorial tree
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Jean Paul Blanquet posted a condolence
Monday, August 17, 2020
Among all Daniel 's family members there are French ones, due to his maternal grandma : Hélène Tiffany born Hélène Guyon .We are profoundly moved and we share all your prayers to our nice and beloved Daniel. We send our best thoughts to his close family. Assuredly Daniel will protect them from Heaven (in particular his courageous wife and their lovely twins ...)
From your French family who supports you during these painful times.
In french : parmi les nombreux et si courageux membres de la famille de Daniel ,il ya une branche française par sa grand-mère maternelle : notre regrettée et magnifique tante Hélène épouse du gentil Charley Tiffany ,née Guyon et maman de Christine qui vient d'avoir la douleur avec Thomas de perdre leur enfant unique mais la vie a permis de continuer cette belle chaîne familiale avec les adorables jumeaux.. Nous les descendants de la sœur d'Hélène, Francine dite Cinette sommes très touchés par le rappel à Dieu de Daniel. Car ces deux sœurs étaient très très proches l'une de l'autre et nous continuons de partager vos joies et vos chagrins. Jean-Paul, Sylviane et toute la famille...
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Carl and Charlene Horst uploaded photo(s)
Saturday, August 1, 2020
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Danny at his "dream job" of making things grow. He was adamant that we understood the beauty and complexities of one of his passions: Ornamental Maples. Thank you, Danny, for so sweet a memory. C & C
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C & C planted a tree in memory of Daniel Powell
Saturday, August 1, 2020
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"Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand." Ps 73:23 Peace with the Lord you loved, dear nephew. Join in honoring their life - plant a memorial tree
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Gerard Dalglish uploaded photo(s)
Sunday, July 26, 2020
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Thank you for your wishes and your acknowledgment. Daniel would have loved every one of you—though you might have found his behavior a little bit odd at times. He was a kind and gentle soul, had a Herculean capacity for hard work—as instilled by his father Tom, and everyone in this family. He was a loving person. Leaving behind a father—Tom—who moved mountains for him and loved him with every fiber of his being. A mother—Christine—who loved him dearly. As well as twin boys and his wife Christina. His boys, aged 3, called him “their best friend.” Atlas and Ryker Powell. They loved him to death. As he loved them and grew in his ability, he was taken. Both too late and too soon.
My cousin was a tormented soul. Tormented on a level that seemed at times to be biblical. He fought truly valiantly for his soul, and as a warrior for Christ on that batttlefield. And it is a battlefield.
Around 5pm 18Jul2020, after a great day--perhaps the greatest--with his father and his boys, his heart just had had enough. Stating that he wanted to go and pray before going for a ride on the four-wheeler. Instead, he collapsed and walked through the door in the back of CS Lewis’s wardrobe. To a place that is indeed different. Into the arms of the all-powerful name of Jesus. At that moment, Daniel left us and went home.
Daniel, I can only speak to your spirit now. You have left us—and you have left me—to carry your legacy. Making it into the best of you. I’m going to tell your boys the same thing that Elvis’ momma—Gladys—said to Elvis about his twin brother, who died. I am going to tell them that even though they can’t see you, that you are now in heaven, that you can hear them when they really sing in church. When they sing with their soul. Sing as though nobody is watching them except you.
When we were just kids. Both of us children walking with the painful, vicious and atavistic effects of divorce from a young age. Our parents for their part, did their best. The tools they had are the tools they had. Worldly judgement cannot be levied upon them without knowing and carrying the burdens they themselves carried. But things which hurt at that age, sometimes leave deep and festering wounds. And we shared that. When I would come, I would stay with you in the oldest part of the house. Dating from the early 1800s. I have limited memory of those times, but I vividly remember you. The critters. The little boy—like me with platinum blonde hair. Both, with something which had been taken.
I do remember bringing you back to Tennessee from Virginia; you taking growth hormone shots as a young boy since you were “small”; your karate excellence; your purple (?) mustang; shooting frogs with BB guns as Wilson was building his house by himself; going hunting for mushrooms or just enjoying the beauty of the bottom of the Hatchie river; Justin and his sad suicide; watching Beau drive way far too fast for no reason; getting way too hot insulating one of the thousands of houses; Reelfoot lake; throwed rolls at Lambert’s in Missouri with your dad; helens bbq; spiders; iguanas; reptiles of every description; staying out a too late at the sand hills when all the water moccasins and copperheads came out looking for something new and of course that monster water moccasin in the picture which you caught with sandals; riding the horses through the fields, talking about nothing in particular—and everything in general. On and on. We always had a great time together. Shooting from the hip.
Aside from the time I yelled at you through a tube connected directly to your ear, or when you decided I was required to buy you $200 jeans and I didn’t, we never had any real arguments. Admittedly, later in life I was always a little perplexed by some of your ideas and lack of belief in yourself.
I saw you differently than you saw yourself. But love does not judge. And I just love you. I did not try to fix you—very often. Even though you lived for “the edge of the razor.” That conversation is for the One you have just met.
I will, however, miss your hugs. Ones that you gave with a surprising intensity, far greater than your physical size. I will miss that you always said I love you when it was time to leave. Every time. I will miss looking after you. Checking on you. Your calls from jail. Encouraging you to embrace the suck. Get out of the web. Mostly I will miss the person hiding behind all of that pain. Thank you for showing that person to me.
I have to say goodbye to you now. It has ended how it has ended. That is something which I will carry for some time.
Your loss has left me, and the rest of this family shaken and broken in so many ways. Shattered. Simultaneously by the reality of you and your excruciatingly frustrating intractability, but more importantly, by the absence of you and your genuine gentleness.
Along with gentleness, you had a wild and unconquered ferocity within you. A fierce determination. Seemingly unbound by any real focus at times. But set to push whatever you had found in this world to its very limit. Set a new limit. The things you found, upon which you actually did apply your focus, were learned about in staggering detail. The roses spoken of in your obituary. The plants. All of these obscure things. This determination to find the “truth” behind things burned within you like the light from a thousand suns. A genuine curiosity about how it all works. I think it began somewhere in time we all don’t know, but I first saw it with the flora and fauna in the bottom. The hundreds of trips you and your dad made down there. A place of rarity. Rarity in quiet of thought and stillness of spirit. Your focus moved on to rocketry, and on it went. Eventually, as life happened, this probing curiosity of yours metastasized to things unworthy of your attention—things that drew you like a hooked fish. Oddly enough though. Even in those things, you knew all the details. A Ph.D. in whatever it was you chased.
This may have been a side of you hidden from many.
As a human being, you loved facts. Or as you would say “nonfiction.” As a scientist—Daniel— can tell you that facts are rare. Between the very atoms which make up our visible world, exists nothing but energy. Nobody even knows what energy is. Which makes what we see nothing but a mystery. Energy fields. Invisible bands of light dancing around—appearing real, but just a byproduct of observation—like nymphs in some ancient forest from J.R.R Tolkien. As such, what we SEE is a mirage. A creation designed to test if one will choose what is seen or trust in what is unseen.
Faith and action is what we actually HAVE. Accomplishment. Love of ourselves and of others. Forgiveness. We can observe our own faith. We can forgive others who have hurt us. We can do something of value. We can love others. Love others like you loved this family. Loved it with characteristic passion, in spite of your struggles and of our imperfections in dealing with you amidst them.
You will remain a cornerstone part of this family forever. Even in your physical absence. You provided not one, but two boys to carry on this proud, historic and noble family name.
Your absence leaves a hole which cannot be filled. A strange void. I have allowed time to pass as I write this. But it still stays the same. It is always a cliché to say a person leaves a void. But it is true.
I am, however, undaunted. I will get up. Dust off. Reload. Reengage. We all will. And we will go on the attack towards making yesterday worthwhile, make today matter, and anticipate tomorrow. But you have hit me—hit us all—very hard this time and moving on without you will not be easy.
I chose to say goodbye to you here because I wanted the collective spirits of these people to witness and speak to you as they read what I have written. Matthew 18:20. Somehow this connection happens. Like we say in quantum mechanics, “spooky action at a distance.” You are entangled with us forever. Specifically, I want you—and everyone—to know that I am not ashamed of you or anything you did. You are free from those chains now. You did the best you could, such as it was.
This grief is almost too much for me to take. Not particularly because you are gone—since you could be a genuine pain in my ass, to use the vernacular. But because I know you just tried over and over to do it perfectly, and never quite got it that perfection is impossible. You just show up, and try to do it better than yesterday. While trying to remember that the only easy day was yesterday.
I know you can hear me because of the family we are from. Deep in the country. Way deep. Where maps stop, revivals still happen, baby squirrels run across the bed while you sleep, snakes fall from the ceiling and you catch owls in the attic. America with a capital A. Where God himself rises with the sun.
Daniel, you should know Wilson appeared to me in a picture on the day you died. I was stunned. You told me a short time ago that you thought he was hard on you. He loved you, boy! People are tough on you to teach you. Teach you that life is imperfect, strange and unfair.
The appearance of this picture is striking because when Wilson passed a short while ago, I must have been through those pictures a thousand times. But it wasn’t until I was grieving you that it appeared. I needed to know that someone was looking out for you like we tried to. The appearance of Wilson—in that silly picture, at that moment—was proof of your transition from this world and successful entrance into the next. Looking at us still down here toiling around in circles—wondering when we are gonna get this mass confusion straightened out. Finding what’s lost and fixing what’s broke. John 15:13
Rest now, Daniel.
Audentis Fortuna Iuvat. Non Desistas Non Exieris.
When a youngster at home, I vowed I'd ne'er roam,
And oft of that vow I have thought;
The advice given me at my old mother's knee,
To my memory has often been brought.
I was but a lad, and a quarrel I had
With my brother one morning at play;
I struck him a blow, my temper to show,
When my mother unto me did say:
Chorus.
Forgive and forget all the troubles you've met,
No doubt it has caused you both pain:
I shall not happy be, 'till I stand here and see
You make friends with your brother again.
Now he thought me the worst and he would not speak first,
Which filled me with grief and with pain;
He left home that day, and for years stayed away,
Till in sorrow I met him again.
I then saw him laid upon his death-bed,
His end was quite nigh it was plain;
But tho' feeble and weak, he managed to speak,
Be friends with your brother again.
Chorus.
Forgive and forget all the trouble you've met,
No doubt it has caused you both pain;
I happy will die, if you'll only stand by
And be friends with your brother again.
Now the words that he said, I have kept in my head,
And ever since I've been a man;
My motto has been when a quarrel I've seen,
To prevent it whenever I can.
A short time ago two old friends I know,
Beat each other till both freely bled;
Both asked me to stay and to witness fair play,
And these were the words that I said:
Chorus.
Forgive and forget all the trouble you've met,
No doubt it has caused you both pain;
With pleasure I'll stay and I'll witness fair play,
So make friends with each other again.
Now it does seem absurd, that for one little word,
The dearest and best friends must part;
For we all know quite well, there is no man can tell
The secrets that lies in the heart.
So while we've to live, let's forget and forgive,
Although it may cause us much pain;
And whenever we roam abroad or at home
Let's be friends all together again.
Chorus.
Let's forgive and forget all the troubles we've met,
Although it may cause us all pain;
And wherever we roam abroad or at home.
Let's be friends with each other again.
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Patrick and Sherry (Fawcett) Smith lit a candle
Saturday, July 25, 2020
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Gerard Dalglish posted a condolence
Friday, July 24, 2020
We love you Daniel. We miss you. I miss you. Be in Christ now. -Jerry
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The family of Daniel McRae Powell uploaded a photo
Thursday, July 23, 2020
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Lea & Simmons Funeral Group
Lea & Simmons Funeral Home
1280 Dupree Ave. S
Brownsville, TN | 38012
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