On this day in 1929, my parents William Wallace Hunter and Bertha O'Donnell were married in the Logan Temple.
This poem is in memoriam.
Accident
Father
almost died when I was five,
but
waited six more years before he told
my mother
“I’m not sure how much longer
I can
last.” Poor health saved him from the
war,
and from
there on he was glad one day
at a time
until he retired at sixty-three.
Anywhere they
went they went together:
shopping,
for a drive to see the children
and
grandchildren or visit Yellowstone.
He was
driving on their way back and stopped
to see my
daughter at the restaurant
in Jackson where she worked. They left a tip
right
after I called to tell her everything
was right
at home. “Grandma and Grandpa
are here,
do you want to talk to them?”
“No, I’ll
see them tomorrow.”
Maybe
that conversation would have saved
their
lives. It could have delayed their departure
long enough
so the man driving drunk
who hit
them head on would have missed the curve
and smashed
into a tree before they arrived
to see
the wreckage and report an accident
from the
next place to phone.
As it was
someone else made the call.
In the
morning our bishop arrived to tell
us news I
had waited for all my life
but didn’t
realize at forty-one
my life
was not yet half done when I learned
that they
were gone.
—Donnell
Hunter
1 May
2012
