Thirty-six years ago.
A long day of mild amusement for a two-year old, filled by waiting for anyone I know, holding vigil on the back steps of the farm house, toy tractors in hand. Then lots of people my folks knew were looking for my little brother. The funeral for my aunt, my Dad's brother's wife, was over, but I didn't know that. He was looking at cows. They were big and interesting, and he didn't want to play with me on the big, scary steps.
It was getting dark when we got home. People our folks knew were there, too. Something was happening. They were quiet; kind of like before. It was big.
Dad was carrying my brother and told me to follow him outside. The night was warm. Above shined clear the moon. Men were there, but we couldn't see them. We waved anyway. (I think we did that for my brother's sake.) Barely I caught the look in Dad's eyes. Not a question, more a simple command, "See what we can do."
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