tangled thoughts

My Great Grandparents' porch

Watching my parents attend funeral after funeral of family and friends is heartbreaking. I’m in my forties and it still wrecks me to see either of my parents cry. I still surprise myself at what tips me over the edge. Today, it was the last remaining sibling’s name on his big brother’s list of Pallbearers. A family of silent, stoic men who shared their feelings with actions instead of words doesn’t make those actions any less painful.

Normally, my mind locks on the memory of my last interaction with someone. This is one of the rare exceptions to that rule. I remember the man who smiled knowingly, who could easily shut down his brother’s teasing with wry wit, who was a caretaker to his wife and who was adored by his many nieces, nephews and cousins.

My Evan is too young to understand his name. When he is older, maybe he will see this and know that it’s a name filled with memories and love. If not, remind him. It’s important.

Lewis Evans, Sr. 1930-2013