“Stuff is just stuff. Don’t hold onto material objects, hold onto time and experiences instead.” ~ Unknown
The family adores my cousin Michael. He’s the oldest of the Terry grandchildren, son of the oldest Terry child, my late uncle Randolph (1937-2010). Like me, Michael is a drummer, and a very fine one at that. He turned down a chance to tour professionally, and went on to become a preacher and school teacher (middle schoolers, God bless him). A native of Bethel, Ohio, he now heads a church in Akin, South Carolina where he and wife, Rhonda, raised two children. He’s pictured here with our aunt Charlene who insisted that he split a Frisch’s Hot Fudge Cake with her after dinner. I had just finished telling him about the outhouse, and we joked that this would be tonight’s picture. It had to be! He had no idea what a blog was, let alone what the outhouse is.
Michael drove from South Carolina to see our Uncle James today. He and James were born barely a year apart (that’s right, my grandmother’s first born was about 23 years older than her last born). James and Michael are as close as brothers. Growing up they spent their summers together, and the miles between them have never dampened their fondness for one another. Michael’s presence brought James around for, basically, the first time since Monday. He opened first one eye, eventually the other, and he tried his best to say “Mike,” though he could make no sound. It brought a sense of comfort. Michael has that effect on people. He is one of the most kind-hearted men you’ll ever meet. Soft spoken, gentle, thoughtful; qualities that would naturally make he and James the best of friends. I’ve been grateful for Michael my whole life, but with every passing year I appreciate him all the more. He is who he has always been: A good man. Plus, he has our grandfather Terry’s Oompa Loompa white eyebrows, and what’s not to love about that?
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