He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

I didn't post yesterday. I did a Word Count, and I wrote over TWO THOUSAND words yesterday, but I didn't post. My Uncle Jim died Thursday night, so last night I spent an hour on the phone with my dad, remembering his big brother. My Uncle Jim's life was too large and epic to be contained here, although I am going to try soon, so I want to talk about my Dad and his brother. My Dad is so sad right now. His big brother is gone, and so he has no one left in his life that shared his childhood. I can't imagine how that feels, to be honest. There is literally no one in my Dad's life that he was young with. Think about that for a minute. You probably have your childhood friends in your life still. You, hopefully, still have your siblings in your life. My Dad has no one like that in his life. His mother died when he was 14. His father died 20 years ago. His only brother died a day ago. My Dad's entire childhood, growing up in Jackson, Mississippi belongs only to him right now. He is an island. Unmoored. Bereft.

It really hurts me to think that my Dad is in so much pain. It really hurts me to think that there is no one in his life that he can turn to and say, “Hey, remember when Jim burned down the garage (and all of my Grandfather’s WWII memorabilia – uniforms, medals, ribbons, photos, etc.)?” Or, “Remember when Jim tried to figure out why the cherry bomb didn’t explode and blew it up in his face and burned off his eyebrows?” It really hurts me to think that the wild,larger-than-life character that was my Uncle Jim could fade into obscurity and there is no one on this whirling ball of dust and gas that will give an inward laugh and remember something hilarious about “JJ”. So, I am not going to let that happen. Not on my watch, anyway. I consider myself a storyteller, a recorder of thoughts, ideas, emotions, and events. Therefore, it is my job to pull these stories out of my Father. To bear witness. To remember, record, and recite. I cannot be with my Dad right now. I cannot hug him or hold his hand. I cannot console him on the loss of everything it means when your childhood idol, your best friend, the witness to your entire life is just...gone. What I can do is listen. I will let him tell me his childhood stories of the times he had with his brother and laugh and cry with him like we did last night. I will write these stories down and share them with my family - and also with you guys - and keep those memories alive and present. I will do this for my Dad. Because he needs someone to remember and share his past with. I will do this for my Uncle Jim. Because he deserves to be remembered, celebrated, and laughed at. (Yes, laughed at - if you knew him, you would know this is ok) I will do this for myself. Because, if I can keep these memories safe and alive, then my Uncle Jim isn't really gone. He is just somewhere else, hopefully not burning anything down! (more on that later!)