Bearing one another’s burdens: a reflection

Last night as I was driving home after visiting my grieving elderly uncle, I felt a heavy weight. I mentioned it to my wife and she felt it too. Grief can feel like a weighted blanket that seems to make even normal breathing just a bit harder.

My uncle recently lost his wife of over 60 years. Both in their early to mid-80s, they had lived a full and rich farm life together. Together for many years they milked their herd of majestic Holstein dairy cows. Together they spent many happy hours riding their horses and more recently their mules. Summers were spent with many trail riding trips into the rugged Cascade range near their home just south of the Canadian border in the northwest corner of Washington state. I was fortunate to join them for one of these weeklong adventures to Sheep Mountain in the Pasayten Wilderness many years ago.

They were simply never apart. In retirement, in a home built just off the farm now left in the care of one of three sons, they welcomed a near endless stream of visitors. The “coffee klets” of mornings and early afternoons transitioned into “slucky” time. A healthy pour of Black Velvet with a can of Seven Up poured into a Seahawks plastic tumbler. The libation was served up with ridged potato chips or bright orange cheese balls served in a giant plastic tub. Uncle called her the “Liquor Control Board” and she implored many to make sure that, should something happen to her, that we would make certain that Uncle wouldn’t go past the allowed one slucky a night.