For Uncle John - Part VI

Why would a grown man want a child's toy rabbit as a gift for Easter?

My Aunt Jean had never missed a birthday present for me or my siblings in 39 years. She was overjoyed at the idea of my son's first coming Easter. She returned home from an afternoon of errands with a soft stuffed bunny as his gift. It had a look of realism about it. My Uncle proclaimed he would enjoy a matching rabbit as his gift from her as well. She said he was adamant.

My wife, my son and I spent the Easter holiday with them. In their house, Uncle John playing vinyl from his chair, everybody moving valuables out of reach from our crawling menace. Pictures taken on each others’ laps with the eldest and the youngest carrying around matching stuffed rabbits. Outside it was miserable, winter dragged on, ice, rain and sleet.

A week later I drove Aunt Jean home at 3 am following Uncle John's passing. I slept the night in my old bed in their basement and then did so for four nights to follow. Uncle John took Winter with him, as the following morning a Christlike sun announced an abrupt change in season and spring had arrived. An explosion of rabbits throughout the city as the one he received ten days prior sitting beside his empty chair.

These are the alignments that contribute to condolence. A coincidence that convinces you of outer-worldly orchestration. I can't explain synchronicity. In death the veil is thin. The worlds hold each other in the grief.

I encouraged myself to feel the heat of sorrow. I kept calling it the pain of gratitude. With every thought came a sobbing cleanse. I recognized my initiation but could not expect the path of the fatherly loss. Emotion always came with a fire, I felt like my throat and chest would burn as I spoke through a knotted voice and filling eyes.

Uncle John made his own funeral plans, a colleague was to give his eulogy and then he wanted me to speak. I did so at a slow and sured pace. I spoke from my heart. My throat burned as I attempted to impart the depth of my love for him, I shared that in the moment before death, Uncle John's eyes resembled my son's as he was born. I said I looked into the building but from a different door. As I finished and walked back to Aunt Jean, I felt an unexplainable surge of confidence through a sense of kismet.

It doesn't matter what actually happens in that moment following the release of life. The surreal allowed for that privilege with us. In the moments he was readying his detachment I watched him physically age in reverse, a clearer description cannot be given. It defied the laws of the reality I know.

Through May and leading into my son's first birthday in June I spoke loudly to Uncle John in the house. I had a key and whether Aunt Jean was home or not, I greeted him with gusto as I walked through the front door to go about some chores. "Well, Johnny I guess I'm gonna have to deal with these books of yours sooner or later, let me know what needs to stay and what needs to go". We chipped away at it together.

This summer I was over and it felt like he wasn't there. I spoke softer for him but he had left.

I don't feel his presence like I did through the spring but I feel his spirit. Aunt Jean asks me if she'll ever get over this and I say no. It seems like that's the answer she was hoping for. His chair is still in the living room, a stuffed rabbit on the seat.

She said that he was adamant.

I hope he's the fastest in the pack.

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Hey there Everybody,

I just wanted to leave you all a quick note here with this “For Uncle John” final entry. I have received the caring messages and words of encouragement. None of this was expected however I recognized the healing I would find in exploring it.

I said earlier today that it feels like life is hard and good right now.

I appreciate y’all helping me get here.

Blake.