Death, Dying, and What I Learned From Uncle John

My uncle died yesterday morning. I usually can't handle the euphemisms - passed away, passed on, just plain old passed...it sounds like Monopoly, as if you get to collect $200. I suppose he did all of those things (with the exception of the $200), but really he died. And my heart aches because while it was time, it was just too soon. Mom called at 6:15 in the morning. I wandered around my apartment, carrying a box of Kleenex, and not using one because I didn't want to wipe the tears away, almost afraid that if I did, then I would somehow wipe away the reality of him dying. And I didn't want to fool myself.

I always hate when people try to canonize someone who has died. I understand the urge to focus on the positive aspects and essence of a person. But to ignore the dark side, the problems, the poor choices is to take away that person's humanity and strip them of some of the most important parts of their being.

My uncle was an alcoholic. Since I can remember, he always had a drink, and was often drunk. After Grandma and Grandpa died, it spiraled out of control at a rate that was stunning. I didn't see him have seizures like some of my family did. I didn't take him to the hospital. I didn't talk to him about how he should stop. He didn't want help for so long. He disappeared for so long. He eventually tried rehab, and eventually relapsed. I think the first time he saw Justin was when Justin was about 2 1/2 years old, but maybe it was sooner. It was summertime, and we were in the back yard at mom & dad's house, the home in which I grew up, playing in the sandbox. Some memories don't fade. And then I didn't see him for so long. I remember so vividly when I saw him next. My sister was getting married. I told my mom I didn't care if Johnny came or not - he made his choice to not be part of our family, so what the hell was I supposed to do about it? I was so angry that I couldn't even see that that was exactly why I thought I didn't care. It didn't strike me until several years later. After all, wasn't it wrong to be so angry? I saw Johnny talking to my dad, dressed in a suit and looking handsome. I walked over, and he gave me such a huge hug, and I just started bawling. I didn't want to let go. It was the only thing that made me cry that day. And I didn't see him for a quite some time after that.

He eventually quit drinking. He had been sober for 4 1/2 years. And he came back into our lives. And it was wonderful. As an adult, I had never spent time with my uncle when he was sober for a long period of time. I got to know him all over again. We had so much fun. What a treat to be around someone who appreciated my sardonic remarks so much. And how fantastic to play pinochle for hours and hours on end. That was my connection with my uncle. I know so many people who would never understand how a mere card game can seem so significant. But it was through that game that I got to know many people in my family. I learned how they thought, how they planned, how they used strategy, how they won, how they lost, and just how their minds worked - I could see the gears turning. We would talk nonstop, and then sometimes not at all. And we would laugh!

And so here I sit, with two fingers of whiskey over ice, almost in some kind of warped tribute to his downfall, but also to what made him my favorite uncle. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I know I'll be sad sometimes, and I know there's more tears to come. I think the hardest thing I had to do was call Sara and Kirk and tell them. They knew Johnny. I have considered these friends part of my family for a long time, and I know they liked and loved Johnny, too. It was just hard to feel the realness of telling them he died. They knew it was coming, and I did, too. But the reality is always something altogether different.

So, in an effort recognize and honor my uncle, here's what I learned from him:
-How to play pinochle. And how to play well.
-Stamina. You can't play just one game - it's sacrilege. If you're not going to commit to many hours, don't bother.
-"Don't worry about it" and "No problem" are appropriate responses for any concern at any time. I can't tell you how many times my uncle uttered those two phrases, and it would usually send me into fits of laughter, because it almost always indicated a near-catastrophe could happen, and watching the story unfold was sure to be entertaining. One particular time, when I heard it repeatedly, he decided to install a ceiling fan and light in my grandparents' living room. Seemingly harmless, right? He started the project roughly an hour before his flight was supposed to take off for his return to Florida. Yep, an hour. The craziest part is that he got it done, and got the the airport in the nick of time, all the while telling everyone "No problem...don't worry about it!"
-It's so easy to forgive and accept someone as they are, and take advantage of good times with them. I can't make anyone change. But I can decide how to respond. I told him many times that I loved him, and he told me the same, and I believe him. It was a good decision to not be angry, and not look back.

I'm just going to miss him.