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Post by Betsy Warren on Jan 2, 2009 15:00:23 GMT -6
I remember my Uncle Ray as always laughing. He had a gravelly voice, roughened from years of smoking, but that didn't stop him from singing and harmonizing with his brothers at family get togethers. I remember when I was young, 3 or 4, my dad would often take me with him to fill up with gas at Skelly's station (no longer there) in Kearney, where Uncle Ray worked for many years. We'd stop and chat, and my favorite thing was to pull a paper cone cup from the dispenser and get water from the fountain with it. One embarassing memory I have is climbing up on his lap at age 3, giving him a stern look and shaking my finger at him while saying, "Don't smoke, you dummy!" He laughed while my dad told me to apologize. Uncle Ray loved his family, and his grandkids loved to climb up on his lap and fall asleep. Through many heartaches - his grandson Eric dying at the age of 13, and battling his own cancer - Uncle Ray was always the rock of his family, keeping his chin up and still smiling and laughing no matter what happened.
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