Armstrong, Eleanor Lorene

Armstrong, Eleanor Lorene
10 Oct
2018

Eleanor Lorene Armstrong, age 69 of Stroud Bay, Crab Hill, St. Lucy, Wife of Freddie Armstrong, Daughter of Alda Forde, Mother of Hadley, Lucy, Adelene, Gary, Fiona and Dalton, Grandmother of Jeremy Greene, Kayla, Dale-Ann, Isaiah, Mario and eleven others, Great Grandmother of four, Step-mother of Alason Franklyn, Sister of Sylvia, Roger, Valerie, Magna, John and four others, Aunt of twenty-two, Cousin of many, Mother-in-law of Brandy, Dale and Moji, Relative of the Lashley and Cadogan families, Friend of the Pastor and members of the Crab Hill Evangelistic Church and many others


The funeral of Eleanor Lorene Armstrong leaves Earl’s Funeral Home, Half Moon Fort, St. Lucy, on Monday, October 15th, 2018 at 1:00 p.m. for the St. Lucy Parish Church, Near Nestfield, St. Lucy, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:00 p.m. for the Service of Thanksgiving, followed by the interment.

The organist is asked to attend.

Floral tributes may be sent to Earl’s Funeral Home no later than 12:30 p.m. on Monday.

Relatives and friends can visit in the Chapel of Earl’s Funeral Home, Half Moon Fort, St. Lucy to reflect the memories of Eleanor Lorene Armstrong from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Sunday.

Condolences can be made online at www.earlsfuneralhome.com

  • Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
    Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightening they Do not go gentle into that good night.   Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.   Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.