Aaron Nead June 29, 2021

Family Story

It’s late March, springtime here in the mountains. The apple tree out front is beginning to blossom. When we walk past it we smile thinking about when you were small and how you would stand in the wheelbarrow, on buckets, anything! to reach an apple on the lowest branch. Soon you were tall enough to reach the apples without standing on anything, or climb the tree.

And now only in our memories can we see you snatch an apple from the high branch, smiling and petting Charlie as you walk into the house.

Charlie! Big ole horse of a dog. He is old now. A week or so before you died he was not doing good at all. We almost called you to come and say goodbye to him. Little did we know he would have been the one saying goodbye to you.

You are everywhere. In every room. We were looking for something in a cabinet last week and we found your tiny arm cast from when you broke your arm when you were two. The doorframe we walk past everyday has your height measured and marked on it, through the years, from the time that you could stand. You beat all the other 7 kids, brother, sister, cousins in height. Well except your brother, and recently.

You loved them deeply. Every Christmas you would ask the kids what they wanted. Really really wanted and had no possibility or dream of getting. Just for wishing sake. That is the present you bought each of them. The crazy 8! Cousins who were closer than any friends. With so many people how can our holidays be so quiet now.

Meme misses the calls, visits and long talks. She says sometimes she swears she can hear your voice, leaning over the bar in her kitchen, laughing and talking to her as you helped with a meal.

That’s who you were. The first one to help. You walked in the house and straight to the kitchen. To help cook, do dishes. Take out the trash without being asked.

This is all the past. We talk about the past. Because the future with you has been stolen from us by a coward with a gun.

We love you always.