As I come across more old photos, this looks like my Uncle Paul.
As I recall the story, he suddenly collapsed and died during recess in the yard of a one-room schoolhouse in Saskatchewan.
I think it was an undiagnosed heart issue.
There’s another photo that I remember of my paternal grandmother stricken with grief at his funeral as his coffin was carried out of the tiny prairie church.
Such raw pain etched on her usually stoic face . . .
She was one of toughest pioneer women I’ve ever known, dedicated to work, family, and church, and yet so accepting and loving of us all.
I was named after him.
I love that in this photo he is holding books and a trophy, for I have always loved reading, writing, and editing.