I lost my uncle last week, rather unexpectedly. He was 81, but spry and on top of things like always. His passing was sudden, happened in a soft-breath-moment, and no one could believe it when we were told. Like we could tell that the words were English and everything, we just couldn’t understand them.
When I went to this sweet man’s funeral I learned something. Well, two somethings. One: this was a simple man. Uncomplicated. And very, very quiet. Yet he did things that mattered. As when he made up little songs on the piano and ukelele for his grandkids, singing them until the children dissolved into giggles. Or when he sat down at the piano and played any song you threw at him because he knew how to wrangle the six chords he had memorized to fit any melody. And just in case he messed up, he’d sing loudly enough to drown it out. Or how he stealthily hid treats and candy all over the house, then just as stealthily showed them to his one daughter, whose three older brothers would likely have devoured them before she could get to them if they’d known.
And how he loved his wife all the way to his last moment.
Uncle Tom was a dear man who served everyone around him–from the smallest and least, to the highest and most important. He served you and me, and had a bronze star to show for it.
What my uncle taught me was this: it is so easy to get caught up in the idea that doing important things means doing visible things. Great big obvious things. But Tom had an influence right where it counted: on individuals. On every single individual person he met. And as a country, aren’t we simply a whole lot of individuals? If we serve like my uncle did–in tiny, simple, selfless ways–wouldn’t our world take a few steps up?
The second something I learned had to do with what is really important, and it was tied to my vanity. I was asked to sing at my uncle’s funeral with my sister–which I was happy to do. Then the night before, I had an allergy attack and wound up dizzy and with my eyes swollen shut. I didn’t think there was any way I could sing. But guess what? I wanted to. My uncle made me want to. So I dragged myself out of bed, combed my hair, attempted some mascara, and got all clean and dressed. Then I listened to Tom’s life and sang the best way I knew how in tribute to him. Everyone was so kind. And no one said a thing about the two balloons stuck to my face where my eyes should have been. Didn’t matter. It was about Tom. About people. And everything else was just details.
That’s how I want to live.
Here’s to you, Uncle Tom.
Janiel, I love reading your posts. I love your insights into the world around you and the amazing way you share those insights through a fabulously rich use of word and phrase, often times wrapped up in your awesome sense of humor. Thank you. You have no idea how often reading this just makes my day!
Judy! What a wonderful thing to say. I'm so glad you're here. And we need to do lunch. At an actual eating establishment. And it shouldn't involve doughnuts.
🙂