I don't know why it seemed so sudden... It's been eight months since we were told our uncle had cancer. My godfather. The uncle that we were closest to out of the other 9 of my mom's siblings / siblings in law. The man that read the second reading at my wedding, speaking the words, Love never fails. The man that had two daughters and three grandchildren, with hopes of more on the way. The man with whom my family vacationed for the first two decades of my life. The man who was married to the woman we referred to as my mother's clone. The man who was one of my dad's best friends. Suddenly, at 59, he is gone.
We said goodbye yesterday at the largest- and by far the saddest- funeral I have ever attended. Coming from a family of 7 children and marrying into one with 11, Don had a huge immediate family and a large number of nieces and nephews. Working in the sales industry, he also had many close relationships and friendships he had forged over the years. His viewing had about 700 people and the luncheon for close friends and family tallied in around 200.
When I was younger, my sisters and I were very close to his daughters, the same ages as my older sister and myself. We spent 1 precious week a year in Sea Isle with their family and spent the other 51 weeks talking about it. We'd go crabbing and fishing, ride the rides and eat as much food as we could handle. We would joke about how strict my mother and Uncle Don were, and how easy life would be if my father and Aunt C made the rules. Despite being the hard disciplinarian, Don was the biggest jokester of the group, never failing to bust balls of anyone for a laugh, recounting the same instance for years as long as he had someone smiling.
When we were teenagers prancing up and down the boardwalk looking for boys to meet, he never failed to keep us out of trouble even if it meant embarrassing us for our own good. As a parent now, it's exactly what I know I'll do in the future. As we grew older, went to college, and eventually married, our families became too big to pack together into one shore house. Although he still lived in Delco until the moment he passed and my parents saw him frequently, I was not in touch with him as much in the past few years.
I cannot shake the sorrow I feel that the last time I saw him was Christmas of last year. When his diagnosis came, it never really sunk in and he seemed invincible, so I did not heed it closely. I was always kept informed of his condition by my mom who, with my dad, spent a lot of time with him and Aunt C. Last week when he suddenly turned after just the previous weekend having been well enough to go to the casinos and a football game, I was jarred. I was hesitant to rush in and take up the precious minutes his daughters had left with him. During the time of my waffling, he passed.
It did not even really sink in until yesterday, when I watched my cousins stand stone-faced at the viewing as they were greeted by visitor after visitor, when I observed them break down and find new tears, which they'd previously been all out of, as his casket was wheeled up the aisle at church, when I heard my father speak the second reading with a faraway look in his eyes, and when my husband walked me back to the car after placing a flower on his casket at the grave, as I couldn't really fathom how it could be over already. I wept through it all, not really understanding the how or why this could happen, and how my cousins and aunt were holding it together.
In the past 4 years I have lost my last three grandparents, but the unexpected nature of my uncle's death (or the fact that I put my head in the sand so it was just unexpected to me), has strengthened my resolve to nurture the relationships I have, call old friends, and live each day as if I might not be able to tomorrow.
I love you Uncle Don, I hope you are living it up with the angels and keeping everyone laughing, as you always have.
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