Altogether in one place

It was 1956. And after years of scrimping, saving and pinching pennies until they cried for mercy, Archie and Winnie finally had enough set back to buy a house.

And they went brand new, in a brand new subdivision, on the edge of nowhere (as nowhere was defined in 1956) in Littleton, Colo.

When they moved in, their youngest, my husband Danny, was still just a babe in arms.

Another family, of similar circumstance and with children of similar ages, also moved in, just across the street. They also had a son, still just a babe in arms. Altogether, in once place, the babies, the neighbors, and the neighborhood, grew.

The dramas that played out on that long block over many years would fill several books, bestsellers all. And although other neighbors came and went over the years and much has changed, to this day, these two families remain, carrying with them the memories of tragedy and triumph, tears of bitterness and tears of joy, all part and parcel of the tale of two families.

We all got together Tuesday, with bittersweet smiles, welling tears and many exclamations on how much, or how little, someone had changed, all in the cool, subdued chapel at Drinkwine Mortuary on Littleton Blvd. It is a familiar chapel.

It will be 42 years come August since those two young boys, who shared every milestone in their young lives, first felt death's sting. And it was a wallop. The funeral then was in the same chapel as the funeral that called us altogether, in one place, once more, on Tuesday.

We stood at the front of the chapel, where Kevin's dad lay in state behind us, when the eyes of both men welled with their combined memory. Looking around, Kevin said, "Well, here we are again."

Danny responded with a nod, a gentle smile touching his eyes.

And Kevin continued, "I still remember my mom coming in early that morning saying 'Kevin, Kevin, you have to get up.' And I complained, saying, 'Aww, Mom, why do I have to get up?'"

It was a fair question. School was still weeks away, and he was a carefree boy of 12, during that all-too-fleeting time in life where every need is met before it can be named.

Rosemary didn't want to wake him, didn't want to spoil his carefree days, didn't want to speak the words she held inside but she persisted, "You have to get up. It's Danny's dad. It's Archie. He's ... "

Kevin could go no further in the recollection. Tears welled up in his eyes and in Danny's as they were swept back to the summer of '68, when their worlds changed.

Death's sting took full aim at Danny's heart and he learned, hard and fast, the depths of death's despair. He would feel that loss keenly through all of the milestones yet to come. When the time of Kevin's loss came, it came slowly, as his father aged and began to slow down. And death's inevitable call was heard long before it arrived as Charlie's body, but never his spirit, succumbed to the ravages of this life.

Only God can calculate the changes wrought in the lives of these men so long ago. Danny remembers well how often he envied Kevin his dad, alive, involved, guiding and guarding. And to Kevin's credit, he knew how blessed he was to still have his dad, and I believe he cherished him all the more, because of Danny's loss.

As we watched a video of Charlie's life, with pictures of him as he took part of all of his many children's many milestones, the envy from Danny's youth was briefly resurrected as he saw "all that could have been," had his dad lived more than the 42 years that measured his days.

And Charlie, living twice that plus three, lived life large, surrounded by family, neighbors and friends. Charlie, I think, fully understood not only the depth of Danny's loss, but also recognized all that Archie was denied, and so, he was determined that, for as long as he lived, he would not be denied, nor would his children.

Over the years, every trip to the old neighborhood included a jaunt across the street to see Charlie and Rosemary. And during those brief and in latter years, all-too-infrequent visits, Charlie never failed to unearth the new victories in our lives, large or small, and celebrate them with us.

Four men's lives intersected in a quiet Littleton neighborhood 53 years ago. The total impact of each of those lives, one on the other, will only be fully measured in the life yet to come.

Some say it takes a village to raise a child. For Danny, God sent the Haneys. And it was enough.

" 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)