My Uncle Bob died February 28, 2014, and I'm not yet sure I've completely come to terms with that yet. I no longer deal with death in the same manner as I once did. Sometimes I wonder if I have become numb to tragedies like my uncle's death. Or maybe just the fact that I didn't speak to him every day has made it hard for me to come to terms with the fact that he's actually gone. Either way, I haven't slept well and I can't stop thinking about him. I don't feel much regret in way of things I need to say to him, but I feel so much regret about things I need to say ABOUT him.
I was asked to say something at his service so I wrote some things down that my uncle taught me. And they were trivial things, really. But what I didn't do is point out exactly how important those things were to me ... within those things he taught me loyalty. He taught me sincerity, he taught me humor; he taught me to be who I wanted to be - no matter what. He taught me to go where I wanted to go, even if you were afraid. And he taught me that even if it doesn't always feel like it, someone would ALWAYS be there supporting me. ALWAYS. And he gave me confidence, even if I didn't need it.
My uncle was a cool dude. Or so he thought. He always wore the coolest, hippest clothes. He always drove the hippest, fastest car. He always said the hippest, wittiest things. He was always up with the trends. And the fact that he lived on the left coast made him even cooler.
When I finished writing what I was going to say at his service, I read it to my hubs. He summed up my relationship with my uncle perfectly when he said, "you two were definitely cut from the same cloth." Because we were. Except he was an accountant who worked with numbers all day. And if you know me at all, you know I couldn't dare do something like that.
But we each loved the same things. We each lived the same ways (for the most part - minus the smoking); we each lived for our dogs. And we lived under the same political principles - and that's a rarity in my life. Few people in my family or circle of friends are as far leaning to the left as my uncle or I. And that made me love him even more. I can't thank him enough for instilling the empathy and sincerity in me.
Now that he's gone I realize that I will never be able to visit him in LA again (though he moved back to the Shore 3 years ago). I will never be able to give him a hard time for his smoking (though the last time I did that he stopped speaking to me for 3 weeks). I will never be able to make fun of those unbelievably skinny white legs (I don't know how he stood up on those things). I will never be able to make fun of the toupee that he refused to stop wearing (though he finally gave it up when he returned home to the Shore in 2011). I will never be able to laugh with him about his silly dog and the way she would turn her back to us when she became annoyed that his attention was diverted from her. I will never be able to speak to anyone about my political beliefs with the openness that I was able to with him. And I will never be able to be with him again. Anywhere. Just being. He enjoying his scotch. Me a beer.
It's funny how I'm completely at peace with his passing, though. He lived 70 years. And for the most part he had a good life. He had some demons - some he conquered, some he didn't. But within those 70 years he saw some amazing things. He traveled to amazing places. He tolerated some terrible bullshit because of who he was. But he survived it all.
I miss him terribly. I love him even more. And I wish I could tell him that one more time. But I know he's happy. I know he's not suffering. And I know that he's watching me from wherever he is with that ornery smile and nonchalant approval. I just know it.
My uncle was a cool dude. Or so he thought. He always wore the coolest, hippest clothes. He always drove the hippest, fastest car. He always said the hippest, wittiest things. He was always up with the trends. And the fact that he lived on the left coast made him even cooler.
When I finished writing what I was going to say at his service, I read it to my hubs. He summed up my relationship with my uncle perfectly when he said, "you two were definitely cut from the same cloth." Because we were. Except he was an accountant who worked with numbers all day. And if you know me at all, you know I couldn't dare do something like that.
But we each loved the same things. We each lived the same ways (for the most part - minus the smoking); we each lived for our dogs. And we lived under the same political principles - and that's a rarity in my life. Few people in my family or circle of friends are as far leaning to the left as my uncle or I. And that made me love him even more. I can't thank him enough for instilling the empathy and sincerity in me.
Now that he's gone I realize that I will never be able to visit him in LA again (though he moved back to the Shore 3 years ago). I will never be able to give him a hard time for his smoking (though the last time I did that he stopped speaking to me for 3 weeks). I will never be able to make fun of those unbelievably skinny white legs (I don't know how he stood up on those things). I will never be able to make fun of the toupee that he refused to stop wearing (though he finally gave it up when he returned home to the Shore in 2011). I will never be able to laugh with him about his silly dog and the way she would turn her back to us when she became annoyed that his attention was diverted from her. I will never be able to speak to anyone about my political beliefs with the openness that I was able to with him. And I will never be able to be with him again. Anywhere. Just being. He enjoying his scotch. Me a beer.
It's funny how I'm completely at peace with his passing, though. He lived 70 years. And for the most part he had a good life. He had some demons - some he conquered, some he didn't. But within those 70 years he saw some amazing things. He traveled to amazing places. He tolerated some terrible bullshit because of who he was. But he survived it all.
I miss him terribly. I love him even more. And I wish I could tell him that one more time. But I know he's happy. I know he's not suffering. And I know that he's watching me from wherever he is with that ornery smile and nonchalant approval. I just know it.