Accepting Death

Long ago, a family lived just down the street from this "big rock". The kids often strolled past it while going about their daily business. In the 1920s and 1930s they grew up in a teeny, tiny South Dakota town. Not too far from DeSmet, SD (of Laura Ingalls Wilder fame). Eventually getting married and having their own children.
In the 1940s, the lovely lady on the left, Loretta went to California to work. She met a wonderful man named Lynn, and married him, starting my family line.
In the late 1950s, my mom was born, the youngest of 6 children.
For years Loretta would fly home to South Dakota (sometimes she would drive) to visit the big rock, and her sister.
In the 1970s she brought her children, and as the family story goes, my dad asked my mom if she wanted a beer, (he was raised Lutheran) and she declined but they started writing letters to each other. He eventually moved to Arizona to work on the family farm and to marry my mom.
Loretta later brought grandchildren with her, mostly my family because our dad is from this same miniscule town in South Dakota (and we were able to visit both sides of our family).
We got to know her sister, our Great-Aunt D. We were lucky, my baby sister and I, a new generation of sisters, listening to an older generation of sisters as one crocheted and the other gladly took out her mistakes. Joking, laughing, loving, always loving.
I think we knew these old biddies best of all.
I'll never regret those trips to, what I consider, our homeland.
I'll never regret those long hours and days listening to the old stories and fun times with these women.

But a few weeks ago my Aunt D passed away.
And my Grandma is 90.

Things change.

And all I have are those memories, fleeting thoughts, from many trips to Ramona, South Dakota.
Memories of sisters.
I hold those dear.
Especially now.
When only one half of those "twins" are still here on Earth.

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