I loved every one of them. I loved their stories the most. I loved the way their eyes captured mine when they told their stories. As I listened to them, pictures always flooded my mind full of nostalgic events and younger versions of the beautiful souls that stood or sat in front of me. I could see them in their stories. I could hear their joy, their fears, and even their warnings. Even as a little kid, I valued their wisdom. Even then, if I had to choose between my "older" friends, and friends my own age, I wouldn't think twice about it. I would rather spend my days listening to stories.
I am thankful for these memories. I learned to play cards and joke around with my grandma's cousins as I fumbled to learn the rules of Rook or Sheepshead. I watched how they played tricks on each other and made comebacks in German. I didn't know what the words meant, but I watched. Affection and care are the same in whatever language we speak. They would tease each other just as my siblings and I tease one another too.
One of these cousins has always been especially intriguing to me. My heart holds a special place for this one, as he was unlike the majority of his compadres. (Speaking of switching languages...) He died this afternoon at a nursing care home in Watertown, Wisconsin. He was 85-years-old, and never married. He was as my father says, "a bachelor his whole life, and wouldn't have it any other way." German Lutherans are very traditional, so the fact that he never married, made him one of my role models. Many people in my family "worry" about me that I "don't have anyone to take care" of me. I'm almost 30, and well, I'm not married nor am I in a relationship of any sort. I doubt I will ever have children, and frankly I enjoy being non-traditional. Albin farmed for his whole life, until recently. He also fixed his own tractors, owned land, and worked at the cabbage-canning factory. He still went to church every Sunday, socialized with friends and family, and always told a great story. He was also a bit of an inventor and a trickster from other legends I've heard. He did just fine. He left a mark of influence on this world, made it a happier place with his care, jokes, and uproarious laughter. He made light of life, even when being serious was necessary. Those of us touched by his influence will spread it into the world in our own ways. No one is ever truly "gone." The way we see them just changes.
The patch of land in the woods behind my brother's house will always be "Albin's land," and so will the bright, shiny blue tractor he bought so that my brother could cut the brush with it. I hope there are cornfields, foxes, and cows for you to tend in heaven, my friend. We'll keep yours safe for you down here. Thank you for sharing your life with me and being an example of non-traditional success. I'll swim against the current in your honor until our paths cross again.
Until then, peace.
Mandi
