A couple weeks ago my Papa caught Covid-19. He couldn’t get out of bed and against his initial wishes, ended up taking an ambulance to the hospital. Currently, he’s in rehab trying to get better at walking and generally taking care of himself.

My Nana also got Covid-19, but she’s staying at home, alone. Her cognition isn’t doing great and questions of dementia and Alzheimer’s have been floating around. Over the weekend her sisters came to visit and when asked about it a couple of days later, she didn’t remember they came.

That’s where my Nana and Papa are at right now, but that’s not where they’ve always been.

My Papa (Kenneth Kimsey) got his doctorate in history. Naturally, he always likes to tell stories about great moments in history as well as personal anecdotes from his life. While I didn’t appreciate his stories as a kid, the older I got the more I loved hearing him speak about his job at the ice cream factory, hunting and having to carry a decaying deer carcass up a canyon, or that time he had to fire someone at the museum because they planted a tree in the ground without removing it from the plastic pot.

After bouncing between jobs he landed at the Sharlot Hall Museum as museum director. At the time, it wasn’t in great shape, but he worked hard and created something the community could be proud of.

One story I love is that back in the day Jack in The Box wanted to open a location in Prescott. The only problem is that the location they wanted to build had a historic building on it. The original plan was to just tear it down. However, my Papa thought that would be a shame. So, he (with the help of some people and some heavy machinery) moved the house a couple blocks to where it currently resides at Sharlot Hall. It’s the Bashford house.

I’ll always remember my Papa as a gardener as well.

During the summers I would help him tend to his garden by fixing sprinklers, planting new flowers, and picking weeds. He instilled in me a love for nature, not only by teaching me about horticulture but also during my time in the Cub Scouts. He was my den leader.

Nana is a matriarch. When I think of the holidays I think about her cooking and the family gathering around her. Every Christmas morning, Nana provides our family with biscuits and gravy, eggs, and sweet rolls. I refuse to eat biscuits and gravy unless it’s Christmas day - it’s just not the same.

We used to have a large family Christmas party every year with our extended family. Santa and Mrs. Clause would show up to provide the kids with gifts and sing carols. Nana loves to sing carols at Christmas, and I love that.

Nana is the person who we’d always gather around to celebrate holidays. She is intrinsically linked to our Thanksgiving and Christmas traditions.

She also quilts, a lot. I don’t know how many quilts she’s made me, but it has to be in the 10s. Even this year she made a beautiful quilt for my daughter. Even though she’s unable to quilt like she used to, her blankets will always keep us warm.

Here’s your warning: This might get a little heavy.

A couple weekends ago I attended my uncle’s funeral - Uncle Cliff. He was such a fun man to be around. When I was young I always loved going to family get-togethers knowing he was going to be there. His funeral service was beautiful, and while the slideshow of the pictures from throughout his life came to an end I noticed the final few photos looked nothing like him. He was frail and small. That’s not who I remember.

In the end, he lost his mind and much of his fun-loving personality, but that’s not what dominated the conversations at the funeral. Instead, people recalled the jokes he’d make and the sound of his laugh. We even passed around silly putty to make farting noises at the close family get-together after the funeral.

These thoughts and experiences bring me back to my Nana and Papa.

At the end of my Nana and Papa’s time here on earth, I will remember a storyteller and gardener and a tradition keeper and quilter.