Imprints in time.

Remember when I would stand on your feet and we would polka in the living room Sunday afternoons to the music from the Lawrence Welk show? And then we’d go walk through the corn rows in your garden that were taller than us and protected us from all the bad things in life? And you’d tell me about watching the world go by from an open freight car at seventeen years old, the war stories, having seen and felt more chaos at a young age than I wish on anyone… thank you. It still feels like just yesterday. Happy Birthday. Thinking about you up there in the sky. -k

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