The Death of An Uncle

Travelling back in time, your thoughts become clearer on the situations you've been in. Is it embellishment? Is it the benefit of hindsight? This is a natural phenomenon, it's something I think everyone does, looking back and thinking of the things you wished you would have said or done. Things you thought you said, but didn't. I wish I could go back and say the things in my thoughts, especially to my uncle who passed, and that feeling is only normal.

My family is so huge, sometimes we lose touch with each other. I had an uncle who lived four states away that I met as a teenager when my mom tracked down her father. He was so cool - he wasn't like any of my aunts or uncles I grew up with. He was candid, he shared stories with me of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. He taught me life lessons and a bit of tolerance. And like I said, he was cool :) He was in a rock band, but he also had a steady job with the military. He loved children, but he dated strippers. He insisted on order, but he looked like a hippie. That was my uncle.

I met him, we hung, and then, like that, we lost touch. Somehow life had gotten in the way.

He reached out to me again years later, he wanted help re-decorating his house. Every weekend I'd take the over 3 hour drive; and we'd paint, we'd laugh, we'd talk. He'd tell me of his lost love as I reached into his refrigerator for a beer; pictures of my uncle with strippers - nude and partially nude - staring back at me. He'd tell me about going into the desert on a vision quest; peyote, sweat lodges, shamen. He'd tell me of concerts he played, bands he'd met before they became famous. Those weekends were treats for me. Like little candies I got to eat for the price of painting, which is something I love to do. I didn't want the project to end, but it did, and then the visits gradually stopped.

Sometimes we would email each other, but it wasn't the same. I would often think about him; his words, particularly about his lost love, they haunted me. As it is the case with life though, years passed, days coming and going without recognition of human contact with one I cherished in my mind. Then a phone call, "Your uncle's in the hospital - he's in a coma."

Over the Thanksgiving weekend he had slipped into a diabetic coma, thankfully a neighbor found him - his neighbors loved him and watched over him like hawks protecting their nests. I drove to the hospital with my then boyfriend, now husband, and we wondered what condition he would be in when we got there.

Walking into the hospital room and seeing my uncle with the respirator was startling. His eyes were open, but it was like he wasn't there. He was swollen, he was still, he was silent. No more talks. No more stories. No more life? Family and friends, we all spoke to him, we all wanted to feed him back the stories that he had given us, and nourish him with his own wisdom and love. Back at the bed and breakfast, in our little room, I cried with a flood of emotion I didn't know I had, feelings that I did not want to share with my boyfriend, a person I wasn't sure I was going to be with till the end. I wanted to hold back, but my heart wouldn't let me. The grief was too strong; and yet. . . I was comforted, I was held, there were words soothing my soul.

My boyfriend and I travelled back and forth twice, sometimes three times a week, waiting. While we were home, my mother called and said my uncle was conscious - I was so thankful. We went back, and there he was, so surprised and happy to see me. I introduced him to my boyfriend and we all began talking, sharing stories and laughing again. He wanted us to fix up his house. We decided to paint the interior of the entire house and renovate the kitchen, while others in my family did the rest. Once again, I was travelling back and forth, this time, with company.

We would work on the house during the day and visit my uncle at night. He'd ask us to bring him pizza, and Chinese food, his lesson not learned. Maybe more so, he just wanted to live his life, and that meant eating what he wanted to eat. We'd show him pictures of our progress. My boyfriend would rub his feet with lotion and we would both help him stand up. Sometimes, I would leave the two of them alone, and they would talk. After a couple of weeks I confessed to my uncle that I was thinking of ending my relationship. He held my hand and looked me in the eyes and told me not to. He said, "That man loves you, don't be like me, you have to do what's in your heart. It will be a mistake."

Eventually, my uncle was well enough to be moved to a rehabilitation center. He began walking on his own again, and was on his way to returning home. I guess that's why it was such a shock when I got the call that he was dead.

It was so final.

Chaos ruled my brain, I didn't know what to say, do or think, but I knew one thing - I would go to the funeral. Many family members had passed, and I avoided their funerals, but I would go to this one, I can't explain why I chose my uncle's funeral to be the first I had ever attended, but I knew it had to be.

When we arrived, there were a crush of people and cars, tears were already welling in my eyes covered with dark sunglasses, and my mother was being held up by my brothers. So many people loved him, so many people with warm memories. My only regret, it wasn't the funeral he asked for. He sincerely wanted strippers at his funeral who would through thongs on his casket as it was buried. He wanted a party.

Tomorrow, a lost father - the second coming. . .