Remembering Uncle Don

Uncle Don passed away on February 17, 2023. As I entered the funeral home, the first person I noticed was Donnie. I approached him, we shook hands and hugged. I expressed my condolences, and he said it was OK, that he knew where his father was, and that he would see him again. There wasn’t mere hope in his voice. Hope is too flimsy a word. There was conviction in his voice, not hoping, but knowing. I couldn’t help but think what a gift of faith that was – passed down from a father to his son. I’ve gotten the same feelings from reading Facebook posts from Aunt Linda and Wendy. We are all bound to leave this world one day and leaving your family with faith is about the best you can do to help them through it. That’s what Uncle Don did. 

I remember around the time Donnie was born, Aunt Linda and Uncle Don asked me if I would mind if they called him Donnie, too. I didn’t. I even liked the idea of having a cousin with the same name, but it was incredibly thoughtful of them to ask. The funny thing is he was called “Little Donnie” for years. I suppose since I had a several-year head start, he was the smallest of the two of us until he reached the age of 12 or so. I guess I should be grateful I was born first, or I’d still be “Little Donnie” today.

As a young boy at County Line Church, that hour-long church service was about all I could handle. I was physically present, but my eyes drifted to those large windows, and my mind was usually on the vast outdoors on the other side. Heaven help you if you tried to sneak in a Hot Wheel or plastic toy soldier to help you get through it. There was some music and some standing, but once the preaching started, you were expected to be still and quiet for the duration. Now I can’t tell you if it was Uncle Don or Uncle Monroe who did it first, but right there in the middle of the sermon, one of them said, “Amen.” I would hear it hundreds of times from both of them after that. I would learn later that saying “Amen” meant you agreed with what was just said. The problem for me as a child was that if I wasn’t listening in the first place, the “Amen’ meant I missed something. I tried listening and eventually even became the self-appointed critic of the “Amen.” My motives may not have been all that good, but at least I was listening. In the church I attend now, the preacher will even solicit an “Amen” with the comment, “Can I get an amen”? I’ve even thrown my own “Amen” in there with a chorus of others. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it without thinking of Uncle Don and Uncle Monroe…and remembering them fondly.

I hate going to the doctor’s office. My heart rate and blood pressure go up before I walk through the door. The longer I’m there, the worse it gets. I was at Fayette Medical Clinic maybe 15-20 years ago, and I don’t remember the circumstances, but they wanted me to return the next day for some test. So, I’m returning the next day, even more, anxious than the day before. When I got there, Uncle Don was there in the waiting room. I sign in and go sit by him. I don’t recall the exact conversation, but we probably covered the weather, how our gardens were doing, our F150s, work, and our families. I’m sure there was some laughter because there always was when we got together. Somewhere along the way, I got lost in our conversation and almost forgot where I was. I breathed a little easier because he was there. The world would say it was just a coincidence that we were there at the same time, but I took it as a ‘God wink.’

The older I get, the more I see God’s hand in everything. I am so appreciative that he put Uncle Don in my life. To Aunt Linda, Wendy, Donnie, Laurie, Kerri, and your families, please know that you are in my prayers and the prayers of all of Dutchtown. When one of us grieves, we all grieve.

“What is success? To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate the beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch Or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson