Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Tough uncles, tender lesson: Grab the moment


Mom was in middle of her family, between three older brothers and three younger brothers. We lost the last of the older uncles, Ern, in 2005, and it made us want to hang onto those younger three:  

Though hard working and tough, Uncle Verl was a poet at heart, a soft touch for anything fun for kids, from pennies for candy to dollars for the drive-in movie. He had an impish sense of humor and loved singing and music. 

Uncle Bud is handsome, built like a wedge, with black curly hair (well-- gray now!) and a ready grin.  My favorite “Bud” quote is: “You can learn a lot from a dog—he doesn’t just gobble up a pancake, he flips it over to see if it’s burnt.” 

Uncle John was the baby of the family—he gave great bear hugs, wrote poems about outhouses, and always had a dog or two at his side. Somehow Uncle John reminded me the most of our Grandma Rhodie, his saintly mother.  

All served our country in the military; all have sweet wives.

On New Year’s Day, 2008, Uncle Verl went to start the car before church, slipped on the ice and hit his head.  Surgeons operated on the subdural hematoma, but three weeks later, he died.

In May, Uncle John was on his daily walk with his dogs when he fell and hit his head.  A week later he died.

After John’s funeral, I regretted once again all the times I haven’t visited, or phoned, or written my uncles and aunts.  I firmly resolved to take some family artifacts to Bud, our last remaining uncle “soon.”

I hadn’t visited by July, when Bud fell in the bathtub and hit his head. We feared the worst—that after this third strike, we’d be out of uncles.

At age 87, Bud seemed to agree. When the neurosurgeon gave him two options—have surgery and live, or go home and die, he said, “Take me home.”  Someone called his son, Jody, and handed the phone to Bud; ten seconds later Bud said. “I’ll have surgery.”

Nobody knows what Jody said to Bud, but growing up on a dairy farm, Bud had often warned Jody about a kick in a tender part of his anatomy if he didn’t finish a job.  Perhaps Jody reversed the threat. 

Brain surgery patients often fight hard coming out of anesthesia—it took four male nurses to hold Bud down.  I felt sorry for them—Bud has wrestled cattle all his life! Still, this man who had never spent a night in a hospital spent several worrisome days in the ICU.

Eleven days post-surgery, we slipped into Bud’s room in rehab.  Thirty staples zig-zagged across his scalp, but his grip was strong, and many younger men would envy his biceps. His wife was finally sleeping at night.

He’s home now.

Isn’t it ironic that we communicate with numerous “friends” online—if you call forwarding recycled items communicating—but don’t make time to give undivided love to uncles, aunts, and other precious souls? 

Maybe this song IS sentimental but it’s true: “Go gladden the lonely, the dreary; Go comfort the weeping, the weary; Go scatter kind deeds on your way—Oh, make the world brighter today.”

1 comment:

  1. We love these good men too! They are truly super heroes!

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