Miriam and Francis Ory knew they didn’t have a long time left in this world together.

When Hurricane Katrina whisked the New Orleans couple into Natchez, they had been married for only two years.

They were practically newlyweds, except for the fact that the Orys had already celebrated 28 anniversaries when the floodwaters destroyed their home.

Both in their 70s, Francis and Miriam counted their marriage in months rather than years. With boundless energy and a youthful spirit, they faced the sunset of their lives together, making every moment count.

Francis served in the U.S. Navy in World War II. He worked as a lithograph pressman making can labels and worked for St. Bernard Parish for 10 years.

Miriam worked in the fashion industry as a buyer for a major department store in Baton Rouge. She traveled to the country’s biggest fashion centers chaperoning and supervising fashion models.

When the two sat in the pews of Trinity Church, an arms length away from where my wife sat, little did I know I would learn one of life’s biggest lessons from this unassuming couple.

Before fatherhood, time seemed infinite. In my head I made long lists of goals for my career, my family and my personal pursuits. In short order, the life list grew epic, but in my head there was always time to accomplish everything on it.

I don’t know how it happened, but since my son was born my whole experience of time has changed. Just 19 months ago, I held this tiny infant in my arms. Now, he is walking, talking and well on his way to getting his driver’s license. Days, months, even years pass at a blink of an eye now. Similar to Miriam and Francis’ experience, time now seems more limited and family has replaced that once epic list of goals.

For 38 more anniversaries Miriam and Francis celebrated their lives together before Francis died in 2008. In that short time the two were inseparable. Locked arm in arm, Francis and Miriam burned up the Natchez social circuit. If there was an event, the hurricane refugees were sure to be there

When Francis died, Miriam chose to stay in Natchez and become even more involved in the community, helping with everything from the Festival of Music board to the Newcomers Club.

Most of all, Miriam became my son Gibson’s regular doughnut date. Most every Sunday, she would be waiting in the Trinity Parish Hall listening for the sounds of Gibson’s feet as he toddled into the room pointing excitedly at the tray of doughnut holes in the middle of the table.

Not one to deny a cute face, Miriam would always reach down to give Gibson a morsel as she recounted to others around the table some tale of her adventurous past.

As she talked of the opera in New York or fashion models in New Orleans, Miriam would inevitably pick up Gibson and put him in her lap, and if Gibson was lucky, she might give him one or two more doughnut holes. Gibson usually responded heartily with smiles and laughter. Miriam smiled in return.

When I learned Wednesday morning of Miriam’s death, I immediately thought of Gibson and his Sunday morning doughnut dates. At just 19 months, he will never remember Miriam’s sparkle in her eye, her exotic stories from far off places and her ability to love life to its fullest, even in the midst of death and hurricanes

I hope however that Gibson and I remain open to those like Miriam and Francis and take time to really hear their stories, because we don’t have all the time in the world.

Ben Hillyer is the web editor of The Natchez Democrat. He can be reached at 601-445-3540 or by e-mail at ben.hillyer@natchezdemocrat.com.