The bright mountain sun was quickly warming the summer air as I walked toward the large, covered porch where we would eat a family reunion breakfast. As I neared the structure, I looked over and noticed two small figures emerge from the old house.
The woman, not as spry as she once was, held firmly to her husband's hand. His other hand clutched the cane which helped stabilize him on the side opposite his wife.
I came up beside them and talked as we took short, careful steps together. I was grateful for these moments, knowing that the day will come when these people I love won't be there.
The woman, nearing her fourth score, grew up on this land. She remembers well the work of her parents who homesteaded here in 1930s. The original house they lived in burned to the ground just a few days before her 81-year-old dad died. The house from which they just emerged was built at the same location a short time later. Both of them helped with construction, as did their kids, her siblings, other family members, close friends, and one of her nephews.
I was that nephew.
I hope you have enjoyed this small snippet from my observations of the lives of my Aunt Betty and Uncle Glenn. Perhaps, as I have hoped, I have begun to do something I hope others will continue -- memorialize them while they are alive to hear our words of appreciation.