My last-surviving aunt passed away last week. Phyllis was 95 ½ years old and had lived life as fully as her physical frailty allowed. She was an avid PBR fan.

I didn’t know what those initials stood for until she told me a few years ago: Professional Bull Riding. Phyllis never missed PBR action on TV and gloried in attending live bull-riding events when her family arranged to take her. She followed the stats and cheered favorite riders. I’ll miss her and the both-sides-of-the-family stories she shared.

Phyllis was the widow of my mother’s brother; she was also my father’s first cousin. We family historians have learned how frequently someone married another person on the same page of the census. That wasn’t precisely the case in this instance, but the two families lived in the same sparsely-populated community in South Dakota.

“Double-cousins” (e.g., the children of two brothers marrying two sisters) weren’t all that unusual in rural areas, even in the mid-20th century. While we kids of the next generation didn’t qualify as double cousins, we were always close.

Tom Brokaw, also a South Dakota native, is credited with coining the phrase “the greatest generation,” to describe those who grew up during the Great Depression and experienced World War II. Aunt Phyllis was my last relative from the greatest generation, which makes her passing even sadder.