Because my Grandpa Flake died before my children were born (just two short months after Steve and I were married), I always felt a little sad that my children have no memories of him.
A few months ago, I felt prompted that my Uncle Dean (Grandpa's older brother) and his wife could use a visit. It became a tradition to go over for a couple of hours every Wednesday, and once in a while, Calvin would come along with me; I felt close to Grandpa when I was visiting with someone who had so many of his same mannerisms, so it was a privilege to get to spend some time with him.
Uncle Dean suffered from pretty severe Alzheimer's, so while he was usually rather confused, he always lit up when Calvin was around. Never mind the fact that he referred to my very boyish little toddler as "a pretty little girl..." I'm sure Calvin wasn't bothered by it, hahaha.
I enjoyed the sweet feeling of this couple and their lovely home; invisible but powerful evidence to me of two righteous lives well-lived. The love they have for each other--even through illness and the forgetting that sometimes comes with old age--was such a joy for me to observe, as well. One morning, as Aunt Nerita had been out running errands, Uncle Dean repeatedly asked about her. I mentioned this fact to her, and her face lit up.
"He remembered me???" She brightly asked, and then went to where he was sitting on the couch and snuggled up under his arm, which he tightened around her while we finished our visit.
He passed away just a couple of months after this picture was given, and when I went to his funeral, I was genuinely touched by the feelings there. The teachings, the stories, the testimonies, and the tears were a perfect tribute to a man whose life touched many lives.
How grateful I am for a heritage that includes people like these.
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