The guys were helping to take out the trash earlier this week, and the middle one paused on his way to the front door. He lifted a trash bag by the tied handle and with a grunt befitting an athlete in the weight room, overhead-pressed it as high as he could reach. His strong little arm quivering from the weight of the bag, he exclaimed with a proud grin: “Look! I’m Uncle Nathan picking up the boys!”

I’m so glad that they have happy memories to share. It helps to heal my aching heart to hear them share funny stories – like when Uncle Nathan would take turns holding their clasped hands and performing overhead presses in Nana & Granddad’s kitchen, to the amusement of all of us. They would clamor for turn after turn, and he got quite a workout lifting those boys with one arm apiece!

Nathan could always be counted on to praise physical achievement. When I was doing an exercise study for the university, I would call and report my newest “max” record, and he was genuinely interested and enthusiastic. When I reached my highest leg press of 735 lbs, he didn’t flinch when I said that someday, I’d like to be able to do 1,000 lbs. He had confidence in me and made me feel like I could really do it.