I didn’t use to think I was lucky. I was the only grandchild who remembered Kermit. I felt that there was a lot on my shoulders to hold the scant memories I had of him tight and not think about or talk about them. No one else had them so if I talked about them would it be bragging?

I remember him being tall, but then almost everyone is taller than I am. I wanted to be tall, but I feel I am more Eunice and Lydia then the taller, svelte women on my mothers side of the family. Being short does not make me feel lucky. But then I think about the one strong memory I have of Kermit. While it’s sad, I cling to it as hard as I can.

I was three. I lived in Lexington, Kentucky with my parents, Raymond and Joyce and my younger brother Mark. We got the call that my dad needed to return to illinois quickly if he wanted to say goodbye to his father. Kermit was sick and in the hospital. They felt he would soon die. I remember driving in the car what seemed like a LONG time. Mark and I had just learned how to sing the song Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and I’m sure we must have driven my mother crazy singing it as we drove to pick up my father who was in Indiana working.

I remember being at the hospital, a big thing during those days. Children were not allowed in the hospital, and they had to get special permission for us to visit. Mark and I were supposed to sing our new song for him, but it ended up being a solo when he wouldn’t sing with me. I remember Aunt Wava standing by his bed, a sheepskin lying across his bed. His hands stroked the fleece. Afterward, Eunice took us out into the hallway and peeled an orange for us to share. Sometimes I smell an orange and it takes me back to that time.

So am I lucky? I am blessed beyond measure.