This is my great aunt Luella and uncle Buford. She shares my birthday, can guess your height/weight/age accurately in under 10 seconds, and never forgets anything. He survived Omaha Beach, the Battle of the Bulge, and drove colonels around France in his Jeep during WWII. He’s never without his harmonica and is always up for dancing.
They’ve been married for 70 years.
Seventy. Years. Seventy.
Uncle Buford died on Monday. I’m glad I knew him. I’m glad he’s free to play his harmonica and dance without the pain of a 93-year-old earthly body. I’m sad for my Aunt Luella who must feel like she’s lost part of herself. I’m sad for loneliness.
But mostly I’m inspired by 70-year-long love. That kind of stuff doesn’t just happen. That’s commitment and sacrifice and selflessness. Beautiful and so, SO rare.