"His
master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been
faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!' " (Matthew 25:21)
Uncle Bob died on Wednesday.
Uncle Bob was the last of my mother's siblings to pass away. He was in his 90s and had lived a long and satisfying life. I hadn't seen him in many years, and don't know much about what his life was like in his twilight. But I know his character, and so I was not surprised that he slipped out of this world the same way that he lived in it - peacefully. He passed quietly in the hospital with his wife by his side. No lingering illness, no need for heroic efforts to save his life. He said he wasn't feeling well and wanted to go to the hospital. Once there, his blood pressure starting dropping rapidly, and within a few hours he was gone.
Uncle Bob was one of the most humble, unassuming men I have ever known. I don't recall ever seeing him angry or raising his voice. He served faithfully as an ordained minister in my parent's church for decades, gently expounding on the scriptures as best as he knew how, almost apologetically, not being a trained seminarian. Ironically, he was a carpenter. All of the ministers in that denomination are volunteers who support themselves in the secular workplace, and he was no exception. But he was an amazing master carpenter, one whom I looked up to and aspired to emulate in my own hobby as a handyman (I have never even come close to doing work as meticulously and nearly perfect as he did).
But this post isn't really about Uncle Bob. It's really about me. And it's about people like me, those of us "baby boomers" who are now entering our 50s and 60s. Our aunts and uncles, mothers and fathers, even older cousins, are all starting to die off. Since my mother was born late in life (her mother was in her early 40s), her siblings were all considerably older than she; thus I expected that I would be experiencing these losses earlier than most of my counterparts. However, her family has a notoriously long life span, so most of my aunts and uncles made it into their 90s. Dad's side of the family isn't quite so well-preserved. As far as I can tell, I still have one aunt (Dad's sister) and uncle (her husband) on his side of the family (pushing their 80s, I think). And I have one aunt and uncle (the surviving spouses of two of Mom's siblings) on her side of the family (well into their 90s). I wish I could be more specific, but not having the most close-knit family, sometimes I don't even find out about a relative's death until long after their passing. And it feels weird to ask Dad if so-and-so is still alive (Mom wouldn't know, since she lives in her own little world of dementia and moves fluidly between 7 and 79). So I just assume they're still kicking until I hear otherwise.
But I digress. How does my generation deal with the passing of the former generation? How does any generation do this gracefully? I think now, more than ever, it's almost a surreal experience since we have become such a mobile society (how many people do you know who still live in the town where they were raised?). Unless you're one of those lucky ones who has a tight-knit extended family, where these deaths have a very real impact on your life, the death of a relative thousands of miles away just doesn't seem to register the same. As I mentioned earlier, I hadn't seen Uncle Bob for many years. In fact, I haven't seen and of my relatives outside of immediate family, for I don't know how long. Being geographically isolated from extended family (they're all still in Oregon) makes staying in touch difficult, not to mention that these people haven't been a part of my life for over 30 years. So I don't find myself grieving their deaths as much as I find myself grieving the psychological void they leave behind. I lost my last grandparent in the early 90s, so my identity as a grandchild is little more than a faded memory. And now I am quickly losing my identity as a nephew. This is the second death this year; Aunt Elva, my mother's oldest sister, passed away several months ago.
I have seen elderly characters in TV shows and movies who talk about the fact that all of their friends and relatives are dead. I don't want to be like that when I'm in my 70s, 80s, or 90s. I can't do anything about my relatives and family members preceding me in death. But I can surround myself with friends who are younger than myself, whom I can count on to be there for me as I get older. I choose to invest myself in young people, not only to leave a legacy, but to enjoy their enthusiasm for life and to share in their adventures, if even only vicariously. I always wanted to raise children, but that never happened. As it stands, my dogs are the sole heirs to my estate (not that I'm planning on going anywhere anytime soon). So I want the assurance of knowing that, as I enter into my senior years down the road, I've built up a "family" of loved ones who will hopefully outlast me. I don't know if I will have a devoted spouse by my side, holding my hand as I take my final breath (God, I hope so), but I know that I will have at least one dear friend sitting there, someone who has been with me through the good times and the bad, and who will allow me to slip quietly into my reward.
No one wants to die alone - death is a scary thing. It's the one thing in life most of us don't get to practice. We only get one shot at it, and it can be very frightening to leave this familiar world. I won't go into my theology of the afterlife - I'll save that for another time. But we don't have to face our twilight alone. If you don't have a spouse, or children nearby, I encourage you to invest yourself into young(er) people who can become your extended family. You will never regret it.
Good night, Uncle Bob. Rest in peace. You earned it.
Have a blessed week!
Pastor David
