The Letter Never Written

Stepping Out…Thoughts about life, its stages, its changes and the next steps”, this is what inspired an accountant turned weekend word warrior to put the pen to paper or in the modern age, my fingers to the keyboard.  My intention was to share my thought and insights about life.    This blog was to be positive, upbeat and up lifting.  But this year I find myself writing more about death than life. Death, in a short time has knocked on my door more times than I ever wished it would, a cousin, a great aunt, and an aunt. I want to refuse to answer the call or open the door, but it is not my choice. When I recognize the sound, I listen, I respond. Another loss, this time it was an uncle.

   For so many reasons this one cut deep.

   My thoughts immediately returned to the conversation that I had with a friend March 22, 2010.  It was one day removed from my sister’s wedding.  My friend had asked me about the special occasion.  I shared the details about the warm spring day when my sister married her best friend of seventeen years.  I told her about the ceremony, their acute attention to every detail and the deep connection that had now become an official and registered bond, but I also shared regret.  The regret had nothing to do with my sister or the festivities.  It had to do with a letter I had been meaning to write but hadn’t yet…..and I am ashamed to say, I never did. 

  The afternoon of the wedding, while standing beside the dance floor I had a conversation with my Uncle.  My Father’s sister’s husband was far from an ordinary man.  Rather he was an extraordinary man on every front.  That day he looked good, healthy and he seemed happy.  He was wearing a perfectly pressed grey suit, light blue shirt, a keenly accessorized tie, impeccably polished brown shoes, his signature wire rimmed glasses and his always broad and welcoming smile.  I said to him “Uncle Bob you look great!  How are you feeling?”

 At this point my Uncle was fourteen years deep into his battle against lymphoma.  The cancer was attributed to his exposure to Agent Orange during his two tours during the Vietnam War.  In his continual optimistic attitude he said to me. “I have two good weeks a month and two bad ones.  But look at my beautiful wife” he motioned to my Aunt on the other side of the dance floor.  “How could I EVER leave her?

 

  That night three and a half years ago I shared with my friend that I had been meaning to write my Uncle, the retired decorated Marine Colonel, a letter.  Although in recently years we had not been intricately involved in one another’s lives I wanted him to know how he had and continued to inspire me.  I wanted to thank him for his service to our country, for his love, for his strength, for his devotion to humanity and the arts, for his love of fishing and family, his ability to share knowledge and interject a little wisdom along the way, and the uncanny ability he had of leading you in conversation to the solution of an issue or problem without you even realizing it….. And he made you believe that you had resolved it yourself!

  I had time, but I never wrote the letter.

  Several weeks ago I began receiving e-mails from my Mother about my Uncle.  He was back in the hospital.  His white blood cell counts were nonexistent. As each day progressed the health issues compounded. 

  A few Saturday’s ago while I was at a music street fair with a few friends I received the e-mail that the white flag of surrender had been raised.  The mission was not about winning the battle but rather about a peaceful retreat. It would be a matter of days until his tour was complete.

  It was at that moment an older couple took to the street and graced us with a beautifully performed waltz.  With tears brimming at the corners of my eyes I watched.  I imagined that it was my Uncle guiding his beautiful lifelong partner across the street in unison to the music. Even if it was only in my mind, on that day they shared a dance.

    The next evening after finishing washing the dinner dishes I went outside to sip some wine and enjoy the warm October evening.  A three quarter moon was making its accent. The stars speckled the darkness that blanketed the sky above and as I stood outside I became part of the calm.  But for no apparent reason, at that moment, I began sobbing.  Uncontrollable gut wrenching, high pitched searing sobs that seemed to appear from nowhere. It was in that moment I knew.  I simply knew that one of the brightest stars that had walked this earth had now taken his place above us.  I hadn’t received a telephone call or an e-mail.  I simply sensed that the world was darker.  A brilliant light had walked among us had been extinguished and now resided above. 

   The Marines call their best men to battle.   My Uncle’s final battle spanned seventeen years. The enemy would set up camp each time in another of his vital organs.  Each test would become more grueling than boot camp to an eighteen year old newbie. This Marine was a seventy five year old man deep within a seventeen year old war.   And on that night, finally, a truce was called.

 

  I traveled four hundred miles to attend his funeral.  It was the very least I could do and there was no place else that I wanted to be. It gnawed at me.  I never wrote him the letter that I had intended.  I never really told him how I felt about him.

  His funeral service took place in a small modern church perched high upon a hill that had wide open views of the rolling Virginia fields that were cast by the warmth of the red, orange and golden autumn hues.  Reverence was invoked as his oldest son stood at attention and saluted the casket in perfect form as it exited the church. 

  After the service we shared in a luncheon provided by the parishioners of the church.  Each one of my Uncle’s three children spoke of him.  Their emotion was real and raw.  It was heartfelt and truly captured their father’s essence.  I was so moved by each and every word but the story that his daughter shared conveyed her father’s purpose and his true spirit.

  She told the story of a former boyfriend’s job interview.  She conveyed that one of the questions this boyfriend was asked was “What would you like your tomb stone to say about you?”  My cousin responded to her boyfriend, “What do I care what is says about me.  I will be gone at that time.  It doesn’t matter.” 

  Little did she realize that her Dad, my Uncle, was within ear shot of this conversation. Not wanting to interfere he waited until later that night to reveal that he had overheard the conversation.  He told her.

 “It does matter what is written on your tomb stone.”

  Once again she replied “I will be gone, who cares what it says.”

  Her Dad said. “I want mine to say, “He made a difference.””

  Four simple words, but a life time of living and cultivating.

   For the past few weeks I have been mulling around these thoughts in my mind.  I didn’t nor couldn’t write anything about it.  Today I realized why.  It was because I had not yet made the connection.  This morning it became abundantly clear.  I had so wanted to share with my Uncle my thoughts about him.  I had beaten myself up about NOT doing so.  But what was it that I really needed to say?  He made a HUGE difference in this world and in my life.  I have never wanted to contradict his thoughts or wisdom, but the truth is that in the end, those words didn’t need to be engraved on a headstone. He etched them with his actions, words and commitment to the people he loved. His essence is engraved upon the countless hearts that he had touched every day of his life.

  Yes Uncle Bob, without a doubt I can say……”You made a difference!”  Semper Fi……Always faithful!