My husband’s Uncle Bob passed away yesterday. Bob was one of those uncles who was more like a father to my husband Mike, at least in certain moments. It was in Bob’s nature to help out whenever he could, to offer encouragement, to express his pride in your accomplishments–basically, to make you feel as if he couldn’t be happier to have you around. All the things a good dad would do.
Both Mike and I are feeling this loss intensely. I didn’t know Bob as long (or as well) as Mike did, of course, but Bob and his wife Florine became good friends with my parents over the years. Having just lost my mom two months ago–and my father four years before that–makes Bob’s death feel even more significant to us. All the people Mike and I love most are disappearing, it seems.
This is where I hear my dad’s practical voice in my head. That’s just the way of the world. Nothing to be done about it.
Except, perhaps, to look for words that help you think through what you’re feeling. The poem I’ve quoted above–“The Art of Disappearing,” by Naomi Shihab Nye–helps me remember that all of us are in the process of disappearing. The only question worth considering is how we’ll spend our time.
Mike and I will be traveling to spend some of our time with his family this week. There will be tears, no doubt, and the sharing of many stories, because Bob was loved by so many people. And how could it be otherwise? Bob spent his time here telling jokes and spreading joy through his ever-present smile. He was big-hearted in a way few people manage to be, without asking for a thing in return.
I’m so grateful I was able to spend some of my time with him.
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