Centralia Fireside Guard

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Story time: Every day love

Posted on Tuesday, February 5, 2019 at 3:21 pm

By Lorry Myers

Charles Mongler was many years older than 16-year-old Alys Marguerite, so he borrowed a wagon

Lorry Myers

Lorry Myers

and they drove four towns over, knocking on the door of a clergyman before her mother could disapprove. Aunt Gete teased her new husband, calling him “Daddy” and he would laugh and call her any sweet endearment that came to him.

They had that kind of love.

Together they ran a working farm and that meant everyone worked. Aunt Gete drove the grain wagon, brought lunch to the field and met the kids when they got off the bus. My Uncle Chris was a big man, successful and sure in the farm life that he lived. He always kicked off his boots and washed the farm dirt off his hands before he walked in the back door because inside was his waiting wife and every time he came home, he would kiss her like it had been too long. Aunt Gete would blush and giggle but never pushed him away, never embarrassed by his affection no matter who was watching. After each meal, Uncle Chris would sit for a while and when his wife came with coffee, he would pull her down to that familiar spot on his lap. Just a moment they lingered because the work was still there.

That moment was all they needed

As a young girl I watched the soft look on my Uncle’s face when his wife filled his view. Across crowded rooms their eyes would meet ensuring they were never far apart. I witnessed Aunt Gete wipe dirt from his cheek with the hem of her apron while his calloused hand gently soothed her hair.

Every day they lived the definition of love.

Uncle Chris always knew he would be the first to go and when the time came, Aunt Gete bore her husband’s death with grace and dignity.

They had that kind of love.

Aunt Gete once told me that she would dream of husband when his hair was dark and his shoulders broad and always there was a longing in her voice when she said his name. She confided that when she woke each morning and lay down each night, Uncle Chris was never far away.

He was waiting for her.

For the complete column, please see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.