Not the end, but the next chapter

I woke up this morning to the not unexpected news that my uncle Mike had passed away not long after I'd left. He was at peace. I'll write more about him later; he was a remarkable man by any measure. The main immediate thing is that he died on his 103rd birthday, on Palm Sunday (he was a devout Catholic- more on that later), with his family at his side, hours after his friends had gathered to celebrate him, surrounded by love. It was a blessing and nobody deserved that kind of conclusion more than he.

I'm always reticent to talk about other people in my blog, because it's none of my business, so I will just riff a bit on how I feel.

I think I made it clear in my last post how strange the juxtaposition (how many of you knew how that word was spelled?) of celebration of and impending end of life was. Looking back on it less than 24 hours later it's clear to me just how totally fitting it was.

It's hard for me to isolate my feelings without going into too many details about Mike, (he was my mother's sister's husband) which is a whole 'nother essay. But I'll focus on a couple of particularly striking things. The first is that Mike had one arm. He had a hunting accident when he was a young man and had it amputated. The only thing I ever saw him need help with as a result of this deficit was cutting his food- he needed things like steak cut for him. He remained an avid sportsman for many many years and I remember watching him tying fishing lures onto his tine with hand and teeth. I also remember playing baseball with him on the front lawn and marveling at how he could hit the ball farther than me with one arm.

Baseball was a real connection for us. He was born in 1914 and grew up idolizing Babe Ruth, wanting to be Babe Ruth, and he remained a lifelong Yankee fan. He was nothing if not loyal to those he loved. One of the best things I ever did for him was alert him to the existence of the MLB cable TV packages that allowed him to watch the Yankees on a daily basis. I wouldn't say we were close- we were polar opposites in many ways. Back in the day when I was spending a lot of time with his family, he clearly disapproved of my long hair and foul mouth and affection for certain only-now-legal-in-California substances. But he never let that stand in the way of being a loving, caring uncle who was always up for thrashing me at cribbage.

I remember camping with him and his family in northern California and on the Santa Cruz beach. I love his children as dearly as anyone in my life. He had an mostly indirect yet profound effect on me.

Once I grew up, or whatever it is that I've done, I saw him far less frequently. But he was always in my heart and always welcoming when I would venture out to his home. And I'll have him with me from now until it's my turn to go.