For Uncle Joel

The first few weeks of 2018 were painful. Friends and family lost family and friends. I have attended twice as many funerals this year already than I did last year.

It is time to turn this year around.

I recently attended a meeting with the Hearing Loss Association and the speaker, Melanie Cool (can I tell you how much I love her name?) talked about the importance of three concepts that will help you find your way to happy. Which I didn't write down, so, with my horrible memory, I had to search on line to find the 3. 1. Gratitude (duh) 2. Zest for life. (yes!) and #3 being "Hope."

She also talked about how to reframe “I can’t” into “I can.”

So I got lost in my thoughts about one thing I can’t do.

I can’t go to one more funeral this year. Ok, so I don't WANT to, if I HAVE to, I will. Because I know I can’t personally keep that from happening. I’m not in charge of that part of the universe. What I CAN do, is tell people who are still here how much they mean to me before it’s too late for me to write or talk, or for them to read or hear me.

(Of course, if you are reading this, you ARE one of those who means much to me. Even if you don’t think we are “that” close, you are taking time to read this now, so I at the very least, appreciate you giving me a minute.)

Whatever, for seven days, every day, I wrote to a handful of strangers, friends and family, with whatever sentiment I wanted/needed to tell them before it's "too late." These were things as superficial as a Facebook comment that included a recipe that I was grateful for, or something more profound, like their being in my life changed my life…

I was able to do this before we lost Bill. I called him and told him the things I needed to say to him. I promised I would be there for Lisette and the boys, and I know it gave him comfort.

It takes seven repeats of something to make it a habit. (or is it three? Or a month?) I’m still at it.

Today is your day…. This is for you.

It doesn’t hurt that it’s your birthday. (or does it hurt?) ;-)

One of my first memories of you was when you were in the army and you came to visit us and brought Craig and me a leather fringe jacket and t-shirts from Fort Bragg. Another gift I remember is a small red garnet-like ring. (is it a ruby maybe?) I don’t know when you gave it to me, how old I was, or whether it was too big or too small for me to wear when you did. Do you remember that? Would you believe I still have that ring? I never could wear it, and I just couldn’t let it go. It’s in my jewelry box that I see about every day. And every day, it makes me think of you.

You are my favorite relative. At one time or another, I’ve loved you more than I loved any other uncle, aunt, cousin, sibling and/or parent.

Having known you all my life, I realize how little of that time we have spent together talking in person or over the phone, but I know for me, the time is very special.

I dread the day you are not a phone call away. I know it will happen.

Loyalty and commitment to family is something I learned from you, I observed your consistency in action, and it meant so much to me in my life.

I want you to know that until my last breath, I will love you, your girls and boys to my core, and I will be there for all of you whenever you ask.