They call us cousins. I have a 5x7 framed picture setting in a bedroom that I cherish deeply. These last days I have found myself sitting in that bedroom on the bed just looking at that picture and remembering. My mind has flown back to yesteryear.
In that 5x7 framed picture, setting there on its shelf, are thirteen smiling young faces. Most of those little sweethearts are sitting in the bed of a blue green ford pickup. One little sweetheart, John, is perched on top of the cab, all smiles. This pickup belongs to his daddy. I am standing on the ground, at the end of that blue green pickup supported by a pair of cruches. On one side of me stands my dear cousin Lyle, and on the other side stands my buddy Chuck. In the background, standing tall and proud, is Grandpa's red barn with its rounded roof and stone sides.
I sat there on my bed just looking at that picture. Among all those young faces there lays an unseen thread of love, winding itself in and around each young heart. Now, some fifty years later, I can see it. It is there holding these little sweethearts together even if their paths have went different directions and they have drifted far apart. That unseen thread of love woven so strong among those young little faces will never break. The weavers were Grandpa, Grandma Dorothy, my mom and dad, and each beautiful aunt and uncle. They each gave us a treasure that was priceless and that has helped us through many a storm. Life has thrown heartbreaks into our lives. Tears have fallen freely down our cheeks. But that thread has never broken.
We were so happy back there fifty some years ago. We were so carefree. We would get together once a year for our famous "cousins week". That week was heaven .Our cousins were coming! Grandpa and Grandma Dorothy's house would be the center of the activity. Little people would hop into the back of the old pickup and away they would go, down the dirt trail, out past the wheat fields, and around the bend, up to the barb wire gate. Someone would hop out and undo that old gate and they would make their way out into the pasture to the top of a hill. Out they would jump, grab their fishing poles and old buckets and head down the hill to a beautiful pond where they would spend hours fishing, or sitting side by side just chatting, or walking slowly and quietly around the edge trying to sneak up on a frog.There were hikes at Alcove Springs, and sometimes we would make our way through the pasture grasses to the old cave in the hill.
At night as the sun set and the moon came out, we would gather around Grandpa's old piano and Aunt Juanita would start to play. Sometimes Uncle Gene would strum along on the guitar. Sometimes we would sing along while Grandpa sat there in his chair, his arm resting on the arm rest and his cane leaned against his knee. The big dining room table was spread out to its fullest, there in front of him, with Grandma Dorothy's tablecloth covering it. You could hear Grandma Dorothy chattering cheerfully somewhere in the kitchen as the melody of "Old Shep" or "That Silver Haired Daddy of Mine" would drift out through the open windows and into the moonlit night.
I remember that day that we were told that our cousins, Lyle, Susie and Freddie and their mom and dad were moving far away. Our world came tumbling down. It just wasn't the same that summer when we all weren't together. A part of us was missing. But life is that way.
As the years came and went, we slowly drifted apart. There was the Army, there was college, there were weddings and new babies. The "cousin week" wasn't on our calendar anymore. We were all growing up and life was taking us in different directions. But you know what? Miles could not break that tiny thread of love that started so long ago. It remained true, strong and sure.
Together we said good bye to Grandpa and Grandma Dorothy. Together we said good bye to our dear aunts and uncles. The day our father passed away, you all were close to us. Some of you were able to be beside us, but some of you couldn't. But even if life didn't allow you to be there, there was that little thread of love felt within our hearts. It wound itself into our hearts and around our shoulders.
Together we stood as our dear Lyle said good bye to us forever. Together we stood in that hospital room beside our dear Susie. Together we stood beside her mother and dad, and brother Fred. We stood there together because that little unseen thread of love held us there.
Today I sat on the bed looking at that picture of long ago. Tears fall freely from my eyes and onto my lap. They fall because I have no words to express my sorrow. I have only feelings, only hurt. Heartache has once again came to us. I sit there, and I feel inside my heart a love so strong for those sweethearts there in that picture. Every one of them. I remember their wives, their husbands, their children and their grandchildren, and my heart fills up with love.
And there wound so tightly in and out of those little hearts, I see that tiny thread of love. It is stronger today than it has ever been. It is there holding us together. Holding us as we face life and its struggles. Holding us for always.
In that 5x7 framed picture, setting there on its shelf, are thirteen smiling young faces. Most of those little sweethearts are sitting in the bed of a blue green ford pickup. One little sweetheart, John, is perched on top of the cab, all smiles. This pickup belongs to his daddy. I am standing on the ground, at the end of that blue green pickup supported by a pair of cruches. On one side of me stands my dear cousin Lyle, and on the other side stands my buddy Chuck. In the background, standing tall and proud, is Grandpa's red barn with its rounded roof and stone sides.
I sat there on my bed just looking at that picture. Among all those young faces there lays an unseen thread of love, winding itself in and around each young heart. Now, some fifty years later, I can see it. It is there holding these little sweethearts together even if their paths have went different directions and they have drifted far apart. That unseen thread of love woven so strong among those young little faces will never break. The weavers were Grandpa, Grandma Dorothy, my mom and dad, and each beautiful aunt and uncle. They each gave us a treasure that was priceless and that has helped us through many a storm. Life has thrown heartbreaks into our lives. Tears have fallen freely down our cheeks. But that thread has never broken.
We were so happy back there fifty some years ago. We were so carefree. We would get together once a year for our famous "cousins week". That week was heaven .Our cousins were coming! Grandpa and Grandma Dorothy's house would be the center of the activity. Little people would hop into the back of the old pickup and away they would go, down the dirt trail, out past the wheat fields, and around the bend, up to the barb wire gate. Someone would hop out and undo that old gate and they would make their way out into the pasture to the top of a hill. Out they would jump, grab their fishing poles and old buckets and head down the hill to a beautiful pond where they would spend hours fishing, or sitting side by side just chatting, or walking slowly and quietly around the edge trying to sneak up on a frog.There were hikes at Alcove Springs, and sometimes we would make our way through the pasture grasses to the old cave in the hill.
At night as the sun set and the moon came out, we would gather around Grandpa's old piano and Aunt Juanita would start to play. Sometimes Uncle Gene would strum along on the guitar. Sometimes we would sing along while Grandpa sat there in his chair, his arm resting on the arm rest and his cane leaned against his knee. The big dining room table was spread out to its fullest, there in front of him, with Grandma Dorothy's tablecloth covering it. You could hear Grandma Dorothy chattering cheerfully somewhere in the kitchen as the melody of "Old Shep" or "That Silver Haired Daddy of Mine" would drift out through the open windows and into the moonlit night.
I remember that day that we were told that our cousins, Lyle, Susie and Freddie and their mom and dad were moving far away. Our world came tumbling down. It just wasn't the same that summer when we all weren't together. A part of us was missing. But life is that way.
As the years came and went, we slowly drifted apart. There was the Army, there was college, there were weddings and new babies. The "cousin week" wasn't on our calendar anymore. We were all growing up and life was taking us in different directions. But you know what? Miles could not break that tiny thread of love that started so long ago. It remained true, strong and sure.
Together we said good bye to Grandpa and Grandma Dorothy. Together we said good bye to our dear aunts and uncles. The day our father passed away, you all were close to us. Some of you were able to be beside us, but some of you couldn't. But even if life didn't allow you to be there, there was that little thread of love felt within our hearts. It wound itself into our hearts and around our shoulders.
Together we stood as our dear Lyle said good bye to us forever. Together we stood in that hospital room beside our dear Susie. Together we stood beside her mother and dad, and brother Fred. We stood there together because that little unseen thread of love held us there.
Today I sat on the bed looking at that picture of long ago. Tears fall freely from my eyes and onto my lap. They fall because I have no words to express my sorrow. I have only feelings, only hurt. Heartache has once again came to us. I sit there, and I feel inside my heart a love so strong for those sweethearts there in that picture. Every one of them. I remember their wives, their husbands, their children and their grandchildren, and my heart fills up with love.
And there wound so tightly in and out of those little hearts, I see that tiny thread of love. It is stronger today than it has ever been. It is there holding us together. Holding us as we face life and its struggles. Holding us for always.
Bless your <3's, cousins are so very special TO us all <3
ReplyDeleteThanks for this touching account which causes me to consider my own heart "threads that bind"!
ReplyDelete