On January 28, 2016, Glenn Cole took a step or a leap. Or he sailed on new wings. Or he paddled in a canoe he built from twigs and discarded treasure—as he made his way to the spirit world. And now, when you find a feather or a four-leaf clover he is reaching out. Glenn was not perfect but he was perfectly wonderful. Adept at knowing what to do and always willing to do what you needed. He displayed his affection in hard work and quietness. In accepting and forgiving. He was a fixer, a tinkerer, a McGyver—doing all jobs: from odd to very odd. He wanted you to smile and laugh and would build an elf door in your tree without pointing it out so you could have the magic moment of discovering it for yourself. He would help out strangers and talk back to animals because all spirits were equal to him. Everyone he met was inspired by his loving and helpful nature. He has left this physical world but not before welding and soldering us tightly together. The blessing of his memory will be carried on by his devoted loving wife, Lisa (nee McCole); his children: Denise, Danielle, Kathleen Colson (Mike Valdez), and Charles (Chuck) Colson; his grandchildren: Kiley and Willow; mother-in-law Ruth McCole; brothers: Elmer and Dale (Anne) Cole, Larry and Michael McCole, John Roberts, Robert Rodenbaugh, Wayne Colflesh, Robert Maggi; and sisters: Jennifer Cole (Vincent), Alicia Zanzinger; many loving nieces and nephews; and by a flock of friends spread far and wide. To know him was to love him always and all ways. A private celebration of Glenn's life will be held at a later date. In his memory, perform a random act of kindness, or many.

Jose was more than just your average hispanic seventeen year old. His favorite subject in school was auto tech. Jose loved his lowrider.

Leonard H. Engelter, age 68, passed away peacefully on January 15th 2016 at Medical Center of Trinity in Florida. Hal was born September 29th, 1947, in Marshall Michigan, to Leonard and Frances (Thunder) Engelter. He graduated from Marshall High School in 1966. He joined the US Navy, was stationed in San Diego and served two tours in Vietnam. He then worked as a police officer for the San Diego Police Department and upon retirement from the force worked in sales.
Throughout his life, Hal made lasting impressions on everyone that he met. His humor, laughter and sarcasm kept those around him smiling. Hal’s opinions were known far and wide as he loved to discuss his views on politics and life. Hal loved a good debate and always had plenty to say. He was charismatic and charming and many times proclaimed that could “sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves.” He was a loyal 49ers fan and always rooted for the red and gold. Hal retired in New Port Richie, Florida where he enjoyed the warm weather and fishing with his friends.
He is survived by his children Chris, Scott, Katie, Meggie and Lucy and 5 grandchildren (Chase, River, Ryder, Chloe and a baby boy on the way).
He will be deeply missed, but his memories will live in our hearts forever. We welcome you to pay tribute to Hal on this memorial page and share your happy memories of this man who was truly one of a kind.

Mum was born to Bertina ("Bubba") and Darcy (Pa) Hinkson in 1933. She grew up alongside her special brothers and sisters, especially Edlah and May and LLoyd. Her sister May predeceased her just two months prior in London. Thankfully, Mum never knew.

Mum spent her entire adult life married to my Dad, the late Desmond Young and their marriage was rock solid. She was a dutiful wife, a loving mother, a doting mother to us, her daughters and her only son Reginald who died October 13, just five weeks and three days after she passed. He was only 49. That rocked my world and it would have devastated her.

Mum moved to London some time after her sister May did, sometime in the 1960s. May was married to Mum's biological brother, Desmond. Mum's life in London revolved around May and her children and raising us. But her real love was for the Lord. She was raised by her Christian parents and while in London, where all her children were born, she ensured that we were all attended St Andrew's Church in Fulham, London.

My beautiful Mother endured racism at the time (1960s-1980s) in London, often being referred to by derogatory word "Paki" while Dad was called a "wog". They were defiant in the face of racism and though (back then) these people of hate burned our home down, Dad bought another in the West End. Life continued as normal. They were not moved.

But the IRA bombings were too much for them. Mum and Dad were raising children in a sort of war zone akin to Kabul, Iraq or Syria. So they took up their roots again and packed us off on British Airways for the beautiful island of Barbados.

For all my years knowing mum and dad, nothing could separate them. Nothing could separate them either from their love of God. Mum devoted her life to St Stephen's Church in the Mother's Union, The Church Army and the Prayer Group. She often woke up at 5 am to attend Church at 6 am for Mass with communion. She ensured that all of her children were confirmed.

In the tough times, Mum never let go of her God. Whether through illness or heartache, she lived for God. I am only glad that Mum and Dad did not live to see their only son die on October 13, five weeks and three days after our mum died. This would have killed her, such was her love for her children.

Quiet and peaceful, mum did not make any fuss, she was a peacemaker. But life took an unfortunate turn for mum. In 2008 she had a stroke. That stroke was the insidious devourer of her memories and her life over time. Mum developed dementia.

The journey of dementia really stole her life. She cried and cried that she wished to die and then something odd came out of my mouth as I wiped her tears away. "Mum, if you trust God enough, he will allow you to pass and join him in his kingdom" and she calmed down. Her dementia continued to ruin her mind and her body and taking care of her was becoming more difficult yet more rewarding.

On September 3rd, mum had a stroke, she slipped into a coma and after being by her bedside watching her cheyne-stoking, I thanked my mum for loving us while playing hymns that friends Doreen, Veronica and Sharon put together. Her bedside was the place that I held her hand and thanked her for loving her children and loving my Dad. On September 5th, Mum slipped away to be with Jesus.

I thank God for her life and for the honour for having her as my mum. I know Mum, Dad and my brother are reunited.

I love you Mum, enjoy your glorified body and mind in the Heavens.

God Bless. I love your Mum.

EULOGY by Kim young, sister

I do not know if I will be able to get through this but I want to say something about my brother, Reg. I am still coming to terms with his death, even saying that makes no sense. For me, he has just gone on a trip and he will walk through the Church doors any minute now….
For us, it has been a very trying last few years. And I don’t want Reg’s memory in the minds of his friends and family to be one of the last day he lived. I don’t want Reg forgotten, ever!! I will talk about my brother every day and see his beautiful smile in my mind.

I want the memory of my brother to be based on yours and my experiences with him as a boy, as young student , and as a man. Reg was a man of incredible honour and decency, principle and honesty. He was disciplined, loyal, dedicated and truthful. He just wanted to live like you and me….

My baby brother was delivered by my Dad on the bed in the summer of 1966 in West Kensington, London. He couldn’t wait to be born. He was a beautiful baby, I can see him even now. He was like a doll and I treated him more like my pet than a baby brother and that never ended really. I spoiled him rotten in ways because he was my only brother. He asked me not to and I could not help myself. Sometimes I was protective, other times he protected me and our bond cannot be broken in life or in death. Ever.

We moved from London to Barbados and my mum, dad and all of us head to St John. We left a then disquiet London for the calm and balminess of an island in the Sun. Dad made a point of us knowing where we came from, especially since when I landed. I had said in my most proper English Accent, “this place is much too primitive”.

So through the winding roads from Hothersal Turning to Groves to Wilson Hill, smelling the fresh St John air, passing mile trees and cane grounds, my Dad took us a 2 x 4 four gable roof house in St John and introduced us to our beautiful, dark, proud grandmother Ivy Odesssa Young. She fell in love with Reg and we all fell in love with her. She was our introduction to traditional Bajan values, Mission Hall church ground food and coconut water.

We had no idea how this “primitive existence” would make us become so rich in spirit and thanksgiving. He became humble and content, never forgetting his roots. We did everything from picking rabbit meat, playing with pigs and we got on his donkey cart for a short trip as Pa’lite made his way to Wakefield Plantation to pick produce. Yes, we did everything in those summer vacations in the country, we walked from Clifton Hall to Martins Bay and back. Reg had a roller that rolled into the Sargeants Street bus and a trolley that sent him flying into a grass piece. He was your average boy getting stuck in cement mixers where his sister put him, run by men with Collins for ravaging the gooseberry tree, just being troublesome in a cute and exasperating way.

Reg’s best days in St John were the days that we could make kites and fly them all night. He pride himself on having the noisiest bulls and the prettiest kites, made from scratch. He also got on trouble when a girl from the area told us to boil eggs in a milo tot in a grass piece. Anything we did wrong in public, our grandmother never owned up to but in private , we all punished Bajan grandmother style. He also enjoyed every Christmas with our aunt Inez and cousins Cheryl, Trudy, Dawn, Sandy, Derek, Ricky, Peggy, on Mum's side (and many others as well) and our aunts and uncles Highland, May, Lloyd, Edlah, Ermine and life could not be better. Family was everything to us and to Reg.

But there was something about those times in the Country with Dad, Mum and our cousins and grandmother that fashioned Reg into a very grounded person who cherished love, family and not material things which moth and rust destroyed, as Dad would often tell us. I once asked him what was really important to him. He was in the verandah at home looking at the Sunset on the West Coast, he had just returned from London 2007. "Family, my children, my wife, family in general, Mum, Dad, family" and he took a sip of a Heineken beer.

He grew up on solid ground with good Christian values and was content. He did not want a lavish life and would not be forced to live it by anyone. He was smart, bright, loved politics and enjoyed a good joke. He reminded me of our father in many ways - a bit strict, funny, witty and very handsome.

Reg went to Hilltop where his best buddy was Robin Mustor and where, once again, the schooling at Hilltop was basically like being brought up in a family by a very strict Grandmother and Aunt. He got a few swipes from Aunt E’s ruler and Mrs Jordan did not spare a stern warning.

Soon he was at Combermere. Up and on , they say and Mum and Dad were elated, so was I. All Combermerians here will know why. Thank you Combermere Old Scholars Association for coming. Busy giving his class mates entertainment, by blowing up his cheeks like Dizzie Gillespie or (pardon me Reverend), swallowing air to burp out entire sentences in class or Cheffette, he was actually very quiet and somewhat reserved as he was described to us by some people. But Reg was the class clown of 1D and brother to Robert McDonald. He loved Robert and Robert loved him back. Norman Pile spent many days in our home, he was like a brother to Reg. 1D was his new family and I am so thankful that Brenda was able to get a few shots of that reunion. Sadly, he will miss the reunion this year. He loved his school.

Reg was a prankster and got on Principal Charlie Pilgrim’s nerves. He, Paul Didier, Warren Mottley, Di Tappin and, yes, Robert McDonald, among others, were considered bandits (not like today’s version) , at Combermere school, so much so when it was time for my sister to do A’Level’s , Reg’s reputation preceded him, much to the ruination of our family name. Dad then told us that Mr Pilgrim, made it clear that he did not want another YOUNG coming through the gates.

Well, we still did well in life, we got solid education and pursued our dreams. But we understand Mr. Pilgrim, we truly did considering that he had to deal with Andrew “Tight” Pilgrim. No disrespect meant.

Reg went on to become a private pilot, valedictorian at Ground school, valedictorian for electric engineering, high grades at the Royal College of Music and generally and all round good guy, bright, funny, shy and non-confrontational who moonwalked around the house pretending to be Michael Jackson and mixing tapes for his friends at school. And he did wear eyeliner and dress like Prince. Yep, purple love and more, that's what you're looking for....and you know it, he'd sing.

Then it was time for girlfriends. When he first got his heart broken a Christmas, he gave his sister the perfume he was going to give this lovely damsel who spurned him and he cried for three weeks. He was so loving, so sensitive, so incredibly soft, so much like my Dad. He was fiercely loyal and protective even to his own detriment at times. he loved Anne-Murie with all his heart and they had a beautiful daughter. Life sent them separate ways but the love remained and especially for their daughter Tandy.

Later, he fell in love with a beautiful girl from the country side, his "Malaree" and soon he was married with three children. He married at the ripe old age of 24 and remained married until the day he died, devoted, loyal to his wife and children. He gave his love, his time and his life to his wife Michelle and children Tandy, Regina and Christian. I pray that God heals especially his devastated children and obviously his wife. I cannot imagine their pain. I only know mine. There is no preparation for sudden death and of one so young, with so much to live for. I am beyond hurt and bereaved.

There is so much I can tell about Reg and so little time but you all have some memory of him. I grew up with him and saw each stage of his development and then, his untimely death. As the eldest, I still cannot come to grips with it. I never will. I don't know why Reg suffered such anguish or how or why my baby brother had to die. I feel so gutted, there are no words.

I remember the day Dad made him a car from a lawn mower engine and a steering wheel bought from the checkered flag, I remember him holding his newborn babies and falling into fatherhood naturally, I watched him also experience phantom pregnancy to deliver nothing but psychosomatic pain while the mum relaxed in childbirth. I remember us playing Jenga, Monopoly and Scrabble, partying every New Year's Eve,hanging out together and then most of his time was naturally spent with his beautiful family. He had a beautiful bride but what happens now?

He had bright eyes, a beautiful smile and a silly, cute laugh that I will never hear again except in my imagination or memories. I have dreamed of him only to wake up crying.

There is not enough time to tell you about Reg. I wish he could tell you himself but those who knew him, knew him to love life, to love travel, other cultures, new people, different adventures. He loved his Dad and he loved his mum. Our Dad died at Christmas a few years ago and Mum died September 2015. Now he has died (October), we are left to grieve unspeakable loss. I feel like a car wreck wiped out my family in less than five years!

When I heard that Reg died, I panicked at work, I collapsed and cried, my life will never be the same. I saw the image of this beautiful little boy signing the solo of Once in Royal David’s City for St Michael’s Cathedral, in a red gown with a frilly white collar and I can still see mum wiping away tears and saying to anyone , “That’s my son”.

I cannot begin to describe the pain of losing my mum and brother in less than six weeks. The last time I saw my brother we were closing Mum’s casket, he was saying his goodbyes and then, sad as he was, (and he was unwell that day), we held hands and he gave God thanks for the life of my mum. He loved his parents so much.

Reg was a big little boy in a grown man’s body and he was also a mature man who cared about the vulnerable, homeless, sad, abused. He loved God, he praised Him, he loved family, he loved us (his sisters), he loved Pedro, Robin, Cedric, Robert, Norman, iParr, Paul and so many of you here and he loved his children so much. He lived and died for his family.

Regina was a national scholar last year and Tandy was a national scholar in Trinidad. We pray that with counseling, Christian (his son) can go on to be a well-adjusted man in as much as it is possible to be well adjusted after a Dad dies and I pray the same for his daughters. I will support them how I can, they are of my brother so they are of me. I am Regina's god mother and I will uphold the vows I took at St Patrick's Cathedral before Father Paul. All of his children are precious to me.

Where is my brother? Why did he have to die? What happened?
I can’t answer, I don’t know the answer but I am broken-hearted. All I can say is that I am asking God for the strength to be a help to his children. I ask God to give me strength to let him go and soar high with the Angels.

My Bible says that joy weeping will endure for a night but joy comes in the morning. It will be a long, long night but the sun will come up tomorrow.

I love you Reg, may you rest in peace and rise in Glory.I love you forever, I always did and the last time we were in the same place, I told you and I said it loud, anyone and everyone could hear...

I love you so much. I will not forget you. I thank God for your life, however short. I thank God for you

Thank you.

January 28th, 2016 Arthur L. Sobery suddenly passed away from complications of diabetes, kidney and heart failure. He didn’t want an obituary, so please don’t tell him. He was born December 22, 1941 and was set to celebrate his 50th wedding anniversary to his wife, Jerry Kent Sobery this year. He didn’t want a funeral, so don’t tell him. Art, otherwise known as “Pop Art” to his grandkids, grew up in Carbondale IL in the family bakery shop. He was in the Carbondale Community HighSchool class of 1959. He was in Berlin in the Army as a medic and a tour-bus driver. He later graduated with a degree in Political Science and attended the Kent College of Law in Chicago. He was a top pharmaceutical sales representative for Merck in Glenview IL and then Cape Girardeau, MO. Art is survived by his wife Jerry Kent Sobery of Venice, FL, daughters Jori Sobery Curry of Libertyville IL and Georgia Hogan of Mundelein, IL, Raymond Wiesner of Gelsenkirchen, Germany (In 2007 Art and family joyfully discovered he had a son in Germany). He was a member of the Venice Gondoliers and the Model A Club.