I attended my
uncle’s funeral service today…his death was not natural. While suicide would seem the most obvious
answer, there are things surrounding his death that are very strange. Regardless, though, he was stolen from
us. Now, I realize that anyone who does
not die of old age could be said to have been “stolen,” but this was
somehow…moreso. Some human took my
uncle’s life. It should not have been
so.
The service was
beautiful, full of memories and anecdotes, tears and laughter. I never realized how truly brilliant he was
until today, when I heard more stories about him than I ever had before. Many people from various parts of his life
were kind enough to share some of theirs, and then it was the family’s
turn. While I was not his child, I
chose to say a word, as well:
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My Uncle Reyn
and I had one of the best uncle/niece relationships you could ask for. Like the best uncle, he was mischievous and
fun, with a twinkle in his eye and a song in his heart. And his heart was huge; the one word that
comes to mind when I think of him is “generous”. Almost every time I went to his house, especially when I was
younger, I would meet someone new. He
was always sharing everything with everyone; he held nothing back.
In fact, he took
me on a couple of trips with him, just because he felt like taking me. When I was thirteen, it was two weeks in
Chile, and when I was nine, a week and a half in The Netherlands. I have been eternally grateful for the
culture I was able to experience in Chile, and the wonderful views and people
there. Unfortunately, I don’t remember
much from the Netherlands trip, but I do remember one thing very strongly.
One day, we went sailing on a lake to have a picnic on an
island. Mind you, this is the
Netherlands; it’s cold. But a few of
our party were swimming, anyway, and they all kept trying to convince me to go
in the water with them. I resisted
repeatedly, until Uncle Reyn taunted me, saying I was “too scared” to get in
the water. At that point, not wanting
to be a wimp, I jumped in…and immediately regretted it.
Now, I don’t
know whether he intended to teach me a lesson (probably not), but after that, I
vowed to never be swayed by taunting again.
Of course, I was a teenager for a while, so I did give in to peer
pressure on occasion, but anytime someone said I was “too scared” to do
something, I didn’t care. They weren’t
convincing me that way.
A sense of loss
is produced when we know what something could have been, and then it never
comes to be. We are mourning today for
the loss of potential – potential years, potential memories, potential
time. But, as my brother TJ so wisely
pointed out, we have to focus on the fact that we had the privilege of passing
years, making memories, and spending time with this wonderful, amazing, loving
man. Of course, we wish he’d been able
to stay with us longer in this world, but as long as we keep him and what he
gave us alive in our minds, hearts, and souls, he’ll be with us as long as we
live.
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The sad thing
is, part of me still entertains the idea that he could have stolen a cadaver,
set it up like a suicide, left all his things, and headed to Utah to herd the
cows with Miv as my grandma suggested to him eight times on Christmas Day, when
we last saw him. I know it’s unlikely,
especially for him to leave the dog, cats, and alpacas behind without taking
care of them first, but…it’s such a wonderful thought -- that I could someday
find him, lean and bright-eyed, beard all grown out, wearing jeans and a
flannel shirt, with that radiant smile back on his face. He’d scoop me into a hug, look me in the
eye, and in mock seriousness, boop me on the nose. Then I’d boop him back, we’d have a good laugh, and talk about
life. He’d ask me how I’ve been, I’d
tell him, “Pretty good.” Then he’d tell
me about all the adventures he’d had on the motorcycle he’d bought when he
moved out west, and invite me to come along on another one with him, just like
old times. Of course, I’d accept, and
off we’d ride to tackle the world.
