Dedicated to the memory of John Bosanko

This site is a tribute to John Bosanko, who was born on March 13, 1948. He is much loved and will always be remembered.

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Irene Lynda & Antony. Just thought this would be nice to remember my cousin John. Taken too soon but had a fulfilled life. He lived his Dash well. Love Maureen Sean & family x I read of a man who stood to speak At the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on his tombstone From the beginning..to the end. He noted that first came his date of birth And spoke the following date with tears, 1948-2017 But he said what mattered most of all Was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time That he spent alive on earth.. And now only those who loved him Know what that little line is worth. For it matters not, how much we own; The cars..the house..the cash, What matters is how we live and love And how we spend our dash. So think about this long and hard. Are there things you”d like to change? For you never know how much time is left, That can still be rearranged. If we could just slow down enough To consider what”s true and real, And always try to understand The way other people feel. And be less quick to anger, And show appreciation more And love the people in our lives Like we”ve never loved before. If we treat each other with respect, And more often wear a smile.. Remembering that this special dash Might only last a little while. So, when your eulogy”s being read With your life”s actions to rehash.. Would you be proud of the things they say About how you spent your dash?
Maureen
27th January 2017
Thank you for setting up this memorial to John. We hope that you find it a positive experience developing the site and that it becomes a place of comfort and inspiration for you to visit whenever you want or need to.
Sent by Walker & Morrell on 27/01/2017
I am I and you are you, whatever we were to each other that we still are. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was.
Extract from a poem by Henry Scott Holland
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