John Lester Futch III

John Lester Futch III, age 76, of Broxton, Georgia, passed away on Sunday, February 2, 2020, at his residence. Mr. Futch was born on October 22, 1943, in Douglas, Georgia, and was the son of the late Harry and LouAnn Walker of Douglas, Georgia.

Mr. Futch was an insurance agent, former business owner of Futch AgriBusiness, and veteran of the United States Marine Corp.

In addition to his parents, Mr. Futch was preceded in death by his wife, Laurie Sue Milhollin Futch.

Survivors include his two daughters and son, Rebecca Suzanne Futch (Isaac Kirkland) of Marietta, GA, Beth Futch Houtz (David) of Valdosta, GA, and John Henry Harrison Futch (Lauren Radford) of Thomasville, GA; his sisters, Patsy Anderson of Sarasota, FL, and Jonan Hanney (Chuck) of Tallahasee, FL; seven grandchildren, Ethan Futch of Lawrenceville, GA, Evan Adams of Lawrenceville, GA, Ean Adams of Lawrenceville, GA, Elijah Adams of Lawrenceville, GA, Dodie Basford of Thomasville, GA, Logan Houtz of Valdosta, GA, and Lucy Basford of Thomasville, GA; and niece Brittany Anderson of Sarasota, FL.

Memorials can be made to the Medical College of Georgia, 1120 15th Street, Augusta, GA, 30912, or the Carl Vinson VA Medical Center, 1826 Veterans Blvd, Dublin, GA, 31021.

“On the Threshold”--- Poet Unknown

I am standing on the threshold of eternity at last.

As reckless of the future as I have been of the past;

I am void of all ambition; I am dead of every hope;

The coil of life is ended; I am letting go the rope.

I have drifted down the stream of life ‘til weary, sore oppressed;

And I’m tired of all the motion and simply want to rest.

I have tasted all the pleasures that life can hold for man

I have scanned the whole world over ‘til there’s nothing left to scan.

I have heard the finest music; I have read the rarest books,

I have drunk the finest vintage; I have tasted all the cooks;

I have run the scale of living and have sounded every tone.

There is nothing left to live for and I long to be alone.

Alone and unmolested

Where the vultures do not rave

And the only refuge left me

Is the quiet, placid grave….