the would-be writers guild

After October’s Guild meeting, I was driving home with lots of rumors that I’d like to start running through my head, the first one being that I could have been a country music superstar, and then that I learned a lot of martial arts skills while watching Alias. 
 
The next day, I got a message from my Mom asking me to call her right away.  My uncle Bill had died.  Thus, the change in my theme.
 
My mother is one of two girls.  Her sister, Beverly, is seven years older than her.  My uncle Bill is Beverly’s husband, and they have one daughter, Linda, who is about 18 years older than me.  When my parents married and started their family, Linda was almost grown, so my siblings and I were the only children on that side of the family.  Everyone spoiled us.  Beverly and Bill sent Christmas and birthday presents.  They made special trips to Minnesota to see us.  They attended every High School graduation.  We would go to Chicago to visit them.  I loved those trips!  We went to museums, zoos, amusement parks, and restaurants.  Downtown Chicago is beautiful.  It was always a thrill to catch my first glimpse of the skyline as we drove into town.  Being in their home was fun, too.  They had a game room in the basement with a pool table.  We loved that pool table.  Beverly and Bill make up some of my best childhood memories.
 
But Bill was a favorite for reasons other than the glory of Chicago and a great pool table.  He had a genuinely kind and gentle nature.  He was soft spoken without being weak, and he had a subtle, brilliant sense of humor.  He always had a compliment for me.  I remember, when I was a Senior in High-School, I had Senior pictures taken.  Soon after we went to Chicago, and I brought pictures for Beverly and Bill.  Bill said they were pretty, and then he said that a good picture brings out the persons qualities, and that he could see some very special things in me.  I blushed and smiled and said thank you.  It’s hard to know how to respond to sincere praise.
 
We all grew up, and my siblings got married, and my aunt and uncle were at the weddings.  Bill always found a minute at the receptions to talk with me, tell me I looked pretty, give a bit of encouragement.  I don’t remember now what exactly was said, but I do remember feeling like he took notice of me and was sensitive to the fact that watching my siblings get married one-by-one down to the youngest while I stayed single was hard for me.  It meant a great deal that in the middle of all the fanfare of a wedding, he would give me some attention. 
 
The last time I saw him was just this past May.  My parents and I were in Chicago for my youngest brothers graduation from Optometry school.  The day we were leaving, just before saying good-bye, Bill came up to me and said, “I need to tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes of any woman I’ve ever seen.”  I don’t include that so you’ll look at me and think, “Oh yeah!”.  No, I only mention this to show how good he was to me.  And I have to point out that he was always sincere.  A compliment like that can sound over the top, but from him it was genuine.  And it wasn’t just me.  My mom and my sister have commented on how often Bill would say something nice to them.  He was good to everyone.
 
Bill loved his work, and so he never retired.  He was 75 years old and on a business trip in Dallas the day he died.  He called Beverly around noon, told her how his meetings were going, apologized that he wouldn’t be there to take her out that evening (it was a Friday), and then he said, “Remember I love you.”.   She said, “I will.”, and they hung up.  Later that day he dropped to the floor.  When the paramedics arrived, they couldn’t revive him.  He had had a sudden and severe heart attack. 
 
The funeral was the following Thursday.  My parents, all my siblings and I were there.  Later that evening, we were with Beverly in the living room of her home talking about Bill.  Amid all the stories being told, she said that Bill never understood why people held back what they were feeling.  He always told her that she looked nice, would compliment her hair when she got home from the shop were she had it done.  He didn’t understand why others didn’t do the same thing.  She said again and again that the last thing he said to her was “Remember I love you.”  They had been married for 55 years.  She had no way of knowing the last time she saw him that is was the last time.  She wanted us to realize, to remember, that you don’t ever know what might come, what might be just around the corner, so say what you’re thinking, say what you’re feeling, to those you care about. 
 
Now, I am not one who believes in the “live like you were dying” philosophy.  It’s not realistic for me to quit my job and spend all day lying on the beach.  Still, since that evening with Beverly, I have not ended a phone call with my parents without saying I love you.  I wouldn’t want my last words to them to be anything else.
 
So, if I could spend some time with someone who is gone, it would be my uncle Bill.  He would tell me I look pretty.  I would tell him what all his attention over the years has meant to me.  That it built me up and made me feel good about myself, like someone in this world saw the best in me, like I had a real fan.  And I would tell him that I am trying to keep the confidence he gave me, and to learn from his example.  It is comforting to believe in heaven, in eternal life, and that I will see him again.  Even though he’s gone, we’ll get another chance to talk.