Uncle Ken and Aunt Anna. These words have been said thousands of times on my bride's family. They simply go together, like milk and cookies, peanut butter and jelly. You say one and the other comes right along after it. The family in some ways sort of swirls around these 5 words.
But the Uncle Ken part is now permanently gone from the phrase. He has finally found some rest from the Alzheimer's that has plagued him for the past several years. The insidious thing about Alzheimer's is that it is not a cataclysmic event, or a recognizable battle like cancer which have status markers. No, this one just sort of allows the patient to slowly slip away, almost imperceptibly, but gaining momentum as the disease robs the patient of his memory and his personality and finally his life. His foothold in the river of life gave way. He held out with dignity and quiet courage, robbed in some ways of the final moments, but it won't change the way he stood his ground as long as he could.
Uncle Ken was always a quiet man. Though he would share a laugh and enjoyed the stories. But in my mind's eye the way I remember him is sitting in his chair in the living room, in front of a small TV, with stacks of degree plans around him. I have no idea how many he would complete in an evening, but he kept a steady pace until bedtime. Later, after retirement he would be in the same chair, holding a book or a crossword watching his old movies. Interruptions never seemed to irk him (as they would and do me) and he was always willing to visit, sneaking peeks at the TV while carrying on his end of the conversation. He was not one to argue, and man did his family give him plenty of opportunity. There were times when (a bit of confession here) things seemed a little too settled, I would make a comment sure to set off the fireworks, then step out of the way and watch the show. Uncle Ken didn't seem to have this bit of mischief that seems to be a part of my DNA. No, he was a quiet island in a turbulent sea.
But a new picture is now a part of the story. Uncle Ken was a waist gunner on a B-17 in WWII. This quiet, gentle, English scholar was pitched into the killing fields in the sky over Germany and France, and somehow managed to come home a decent, quiet, gentle, English scholar. This alone is a tribute to his ability to withstand conflict with poise and dignity. So at the graveside, his casket draped with an American flag, a color guard came and played taps, and gently and with great ceremony folded the flag and presented it to Aunt Anna. The essential message was that the President of the United States and the American people say "Thank you" for his service and dedication and sacrifice.
As I reflected on this over the past few days, it occurred to me that funerals are in essence the time and place to say "Thank you" to the ones who have stepped into the great Uncounting. We say thank you for all the good you have done and the memories and the benefits of knowing you. This picture of the Staff Sargent kneeling in front of Aunt Anna sums up the entire day. It is a moment to say to Uncle Ken, I am a better person for knowing you, thank you for that. Our deepest regrets are for the things we didn't do, not the ones we did and I think this is true here. I wish I had spent a moment more and said Thank you to one of our family members who left a lot of good memories and a wealth of good humor and quiet dignity.
There will be more of these events. The river has cleared somewhat in my own stretch of the sandbar. My dad is 92 and while still holding on, the river rages against him. Perhaps I am fooled by my own foothold and with a quick turn and it is I who slides by those who are younger, in a calmer section of the river. Perhaps hearing them whisper or cry "thanks" as I slide by.
It is my resolve to be more appreciative of those ahead of me. They have conquered the same currents I now fight. I also want to be able to help those behind me who need to know what little I have gained. It is important that they understand the need to be grateful. This is a lot from a single mental picture of a soldier presenting a flag to a lady who has lost her companion of 60 years, but I hope this little bit of acknowledgement makes up for the lack of maturity it takes to say "Thank you".
Godspeed, Uncle Ken. You were one of a kind.
Don
