There was a family vacation to the Black Hills. There was a child on that trip. He vexed me. 

He had so much energy,  and he had so much he wanted to tell me. So much he wanted to ask me. Every waking moment he was on my heels, asking and telling.

As that child grew, he continued to ask and tell, but the substance changed. It grew with him.

I watched the young man graduate high school. Less asking and telling. More living, doing the stupid things one does at that age. I guess that’s a form of asking and telling.

I watched the man walk down the aisle, and wondered. She was a marvelous young woman, but they were so young. I worried. Another in a long line of pointless worries, because I had actually witnessed something perfect.

Years later, there was no asking or telling. He did wondrous things with life. I watched from the corner as he and his marvelous wife created an absolutely beautiful family. I listened at the door as he told about his children with a sense of wonder and glee. 

I love that child. I love that young man. I love that man. I love that marvelous wife, and I love those amazing children. 

I remember. I remember every hug. I remember all of the questions. I remember what you told me, and I will never forget that child in the Black Hills. 

You are a piece of my heart,  nephew.  A shattered piece now, but one that will mend, and show the lines you drew on it. It will remember, and never forget.