My brother, Roy Mills Monier, would have been 60 years old on October 9. He died outside of Quito, Ecuador on December 6, 2001.
And I don’t just mean with them family members, and their kin and friends and pets that was constantly coming and going; and I don’t mean with all the things they gathered and put in different rooms that marked their lives neither. I mean that it was full up in the only way that can make a house into a home.
It was a good long spell that everything seemed to get bigger and bigger. Not just them little ones, but life itself.
But the tide, it surely did turn, and thence came the long stretch when everything started going the other way. One by one, they started packing up and leaving; the Husband, then the Boy. It was just the Little One left in the house with my Lady when she got the phone call that the very last of her kin had dropped down dead in some far off country. She was standing right beside me, holding the phone in her hand, when I heared her gasp real loud, and her voice went all shaky. With that phone call she had no more kinfolk, no more of the people who raised her up or stood along side her while she was doing her own growing, no more people to hold on to her stories.
I think that might have been the moment, right then with that phone call, that my Lady began trying to push the river.