My Uncle Died

Last week, my mom's oldest brother died. I'm going to call him Math Man because he was a brilliant mathematician who felt called to teach high school math. He wrote a math textbook or two in his day. Math Man was a successful business man in his spare time. 

The dreaded cancer got him. He was almost 80. But still, he seemed to have a lot more life left in him. It's funny, the older my aunts and uncles got, the younger I realized they really were. Suddenly, 70 seemed so young when these vibrant, healthy loved ones hit that mark. When my grandmother turned 90, I realized how much living there was still to be had. 

The thing that struck me the most about Math Man, was his extreme sense of responsibility. He was the oldest of 7 kids. Oldest boy. First to move to Canada. First to go to university. First to get married. First to have a child.  If it wasn't for some of his choices, my parents would not have made some of their choices. To move to Canada. To move to the city we grew up in. I'm grateful to Math Man for some of the choices he made, because in doing so, he made my life better.

Math Man was a great son, brother, husband, father, and grandfather. He took his roles seriously. He always made sure to visit his parents. That sounds simple, but not many grown sons with families of their own do that.

As a husband and father, he truly was the head of his household. It wasn't that he ruled, as much as he was the patriarch. He was a man. A man who always strived to do what was best for his family. I think there are things in life he might have missed out on because of that. But I don't think he felt that way. He did what he believed was right.

I hope you pick up how much I respected my uncle. Because we had an adversarial relationship for over 30 years. He used to come over every Monday to visit my grandparents, who lived with us. He would tease me in a way I didn't care for. I remember being 10 and him telling me I was fat. Calling me fatty. I wasn't fat. I was normal weight. I told my mom I didn't like him calling me fat. She said I should talk to him about it. I did. 

I remember the conversation like it was yesterday. He was surprised I would stand up for myself like that. But he apologized and he never called me that again.  When I needed tutoring in math in high school, Math Man was there for me. When I turned 18 and only wanted my mom's 4 brothers to attend my birthday party, he came. He said I marched to the beat of a different drummer. Maybe it's because I have no rhythm. 

Through the years, Math Man made numerous comments about me not being someone to mess with. Yeah, well, he shoulda known not to mess with me when my grandmother died. But he did. And it turned out not so pretty. I never spoke to him again after that. She died at the end of 2000. I think it's better this way. Next time we see each other, all will be forgotten and we'll run and give each other big hugs. Of course, I might have to go find him on the Pearly Gate Golf Course...

My mom is still trying to wrap her mind around her big brother not being here. She has the comfort of knowing he is in Heaven with their brother who passed away almost 4 years ago, and their parents. If I put myself in my mom's shoes and imagine how I would be if it were my big brother, I know I would not be able to function as well as she is. 

Out of all of this, my siblings and I have had dialog with our parents on the how's and why's of their funeral planning. We hope it will be at least 20 years from now. But we have it documented so all we have to do is look at what we wrote and agreed upon.

If you made it all the way down to here, thanks for listening.