Weekes, Fitzgerald

Weekes, Fitzgerald
01 Nov
2017

Fitzgerald Weekes, age 74, better known as “Kalini” or “Grandfather”, of Fair View Hill, Christ Church and formerly of Oldbury, St. Philip, Son of the late Ashton and Eudora Weekes, Spouse of Brenda Lewis, Father of Harvey and Joel Tull, Adrian of the U.S.A., Patricia, Christopher, Alvin, Jerome, Suzette of B.A.D.M.C and Cordella Lewis, Grandfather of Shawnette, Kellyann, Jalisa, Ramone, Theo, Darren, Ashley, Ashantia, Shaquan and twelve others and the late Romario Lewis, Great-grandfather of seven, Brother of Emerson, Headley, Oscar, Carl, Elaine, Inel, Gloria Weekes, the late James, Martin, Walton and Rawle Weekes, Relative of the Lewis, Weekes, Clarke, Forde, Robinson and Coppin families, Friend of Natoya, Cynthia, Peter, Ryan, Paul, Lorraine, Mitch, Richard and many others..


The funeral of Fitzgerald Weekes leaves the Belmont Funeral Home, Belmont Road, St. Michael on Thursday, November 02nd, 2017 at 1:30 p.m. for St. Patrick’s Anglican Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:00 p.m. for the service, followed by the interment.

The organist and member of the choir are asked to attend.


Floral arrangements may be sent to the Belmont Funeral Home no later than 1:00 p.m. on Thursday.

  • 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.