Standing on a Hill

The last time I stood on the hill in Bridgeport was for Grandad's funeral in December of 1988. It was VERY cold and snowy. My cousin Randy had forgotten to bring a coat, I walked up behind him and wrapped my coat around us in an attempt to help him get warm.

Randy is now gone; the first of the first cousins to die. He died of a quick, nasty Viet Nam induced cancer. Man's inhumanity to man continues throughout the generations.

Two and a half years ago, the same company of folks gathered in Parkersburg for Dad's memorial service. He was the second of Guy and Jessie's offspring to go.

A week ago Monday we stood next to Guy and Jessie's graves beside Loretta's casket, the opening of another Ashby plot on the hill. I stood with my arm around Rodney next to the grave of his son Christopher.

I looked across at the uncles and aunt and thought of the families represented there. Somewhere in the same cemetery, Mom and Preacher Idleman are buried. The Ashby/Idleman roots are deep and widespreading. We have done a reasonably good job of staying close, although now we typically gather only for funerals.

As Dawn and I drove through Bridgeport over that weekend, I realized how much a part of my life was tied to the little town. Because Mom and Dad moved so often, the farm in Bridgeport was always a solid tie for us. Just yesterday I was telling someone a farm story. At Loretta's funeral, several people told "Egg" stories about Guy and his eggs.

Someday [when Debi is ready to let them go ;0 ], we will take June and Hugh to the same hill in Bridgeport, WV, and their lives will also be noted with a marker.

Standing on a hill in West Virginia remembering a strong, wonderful family helps the roots continue to grow deeper.