Today, my Daddy and I escaped our usual routine and drove to Jackson to visit my aunt Helen and her three sons. We had the best time together, maybe forever.
My aunt, Helen, is 95 and Daddy is 86. We had a ball remembering our lives together over the decades. We talked about the time Aunt Helen’s husband, Charlie, was still alive and he took my Daddy to New Orleans and introduced him to a strange world of spirits. (I think it was alcohol.)
Uncle Charlie was killed in an automobile accident in 1950 leaving Helen with four small boys. On her teacher’s salary, she educated them and managed to buy a house in north Jackson. I’ll never know how she did that.
Her boys are her anchor in the world and they love her – so do I.