In Memory of Uncle Joe
On Thursday afternoon, my Uncle Joe Wolcott died. He was just a couple weeks shy of his 95th birthday. He and my Aunt Margaret (who was my paternal grandfather's sister) had known each other for more than ninety years. They were SO in love--one of those sweet, storybook sorts of romances. They could look at each other across the room and wave or bat their eyelashes at each other, and still make each other feel giddy.
They've both been in poor health for the past couple of years, just hanging on to each other for each other. But for the past few months, Uncle Joe has been struggling against a brain tumor. A week and a half ago, he went into the hospital with pneumonia, and his cancer, which has spread, was causing him tremendous discomfort. His sons--my cousins--Jeff and Jerome, made the difficult choice to end the medical treatment that was prolonging Uncle Joe's life. On Monday of last week, under the supervision of hospice care, they brought him home to die.
He lingered longer than we thought he would. As my mom said, "It's hard work to die." On Thursday, after I finished with class and a faculty meeting, I hopped in the car, but instead of stopping at home, I decided to go straight to Uncle Joe's first. I walked in literally as he died, with his family around him: Jeff and his wife, Jane; two of their three kids, Joe and Sarah; Jerome; my mother; and their devoted caregiver, Elkie. Aunt Margaret had seen him five minutes earlier before going to bed for an afternoon nap. It was a beautiful scene. Jeff and Jerome made sure their father died a good death.
The line at the funeral home Saturday stretched out the door for a 30-minute wait. It shocked Jeff and Jerome, who didn't expect such a turnout because all of Uncle Joe's contemporaries have long since passed, and it's been a couple years since he's been able to get out and about downtown. But sooo many people showed up. It was a clear indication of a life well lived.
I had the privilege of delivering the eulogy at the funeral. The family's great heartbreak is that they lost a son, Jody, when he was eleven. Jody was my mother's age and her best childhood friend; she's never quite gotten over his death, either. But I saw in Uncle Joe's death a reason to rejoice because father and son could finally be reunited. I started my comments with that.
Jody has his father back.
As sad as any of us might be about Uncle Joe’s passing, there isn’t anyone among us who can’t rejoice because of that: Jody has his father back. I’m pretty excited about that.
It’s that theme of father and sons I want to touch on this afternoon.
When I heard Uncle Joe was taken to the hospital last weekend, I went over. I found his room. And Jeff was standing there over his bed, leaning in, rubbing his father’s head and telling him, “It’s going to be okay, Dad. We’ll get this taken care of. It’s going to be all right.”
I couldn’t help but imagine: once upon a time, that was Uncle Joe leaning over Jeff’s bed, with his hand on the head of his firstborn son, saying, “Everything is all right.”
What a privilege it was to share that moment with them, to see that miracle-because that’s what it is. A miracle. It happens around us every day, so frequently that it’s almost become cliché-“The Circle of Life,” and all that-and we forget that it’s a miracle. The love Uncle Joe gave to Jeff over all those years...that he gave to Jerome and Jody and my mother and all of us...that loves comes back.
That love comes back.
Uncle Joe was born, almost ninety-five years ago, in a house that sat on the same spot where his current house now sits...in a downstairs bedroom in the front of the house where his living room now is. I think of all the years where he sat in a chair in that same spot in his living room, watching baseball, listening to his scanner, chewing tobacco. And when Jeff and Jerome brought him home on Monday, they set up a hospital bed in that same place. So, when Uncle Joe passed away, he died in the same spot he’d been born in.
After we prayed over the body and prepared it to be taken away, and after the folks from the funeral home came, we tore down the bed and rearranged the room and put a rocking chair in that spot. And then we all just needed to sit down for a second. And Jeff grabbed the newspaper and happened to sit in that rocking chair. And I could see it again, Jeff and his father trading places. There was a baseball game on the TV and everything. We had a chuckle over that.
So as sad as we might be about Uncle Joe’s departure, we have to remember that he is very much with us, in a very real way, in his two sons: men of character and integrity and compassion. Men of kindness. Men of heart.
Jerome lived with my brother and mother and me for a lot of years when I was growing up, during the most formative period of my life. He was the closest thing I had to a father figure for most of the year. And so I am very much the man I am today thanks to the good example Jerome set-a good example passed on to him by his father.
Jeff, too, has passed down the lessons of his father to his own children.
And think of the generations of school kids Uncle Joe also set an example for. Hundreds and hundreds of people were touched by this gentle, gentle man.
And my dear mother, who Uncle Joe called “my girl.” “Barrelhouse Becky from Basin Street.” She was such a salve to his broken heart after Jody died.
It broke Uncle Joe’s heart, too, that in the past couple years he couldn’t do more for Aunt Margaret because of his declining health and hers. They’ve known each other for ninety years. Can you even imagine that? Ninety years. No wonder he was frustrated that he couldn’t take care of his sweetheart. Well, now he’s in a place where he can do something about that again.
In fact, if he was sitting here, he’d tell us all to stop fussing and look after Maggie.
So that’s what I invite us to do when we leave here today. Let’s look after each other the way Uncle Joe would want us to, because that love comes back to us. And know that Uncle Joe is here with us, his hand resting on our heads, and on our hearts, telling us, “Everything’s going to be all right.”
They've both been in poor health for the past couple of years, just hanging on to each other for each other. But for the past few months, Uncle Joe has been struggling against a brain tumor. A week and a half ago, he went into the hospital with pneumonia, and his cancer, which has spread, was causing him tremendous discomfort. His sons--my cousins--Jeff and Jerome, made the difficult choice to end the medical treatment that was prolonging Uncle Joe's life. On Monday of last week, under the supervision of hospice care, they brought him home to die.
He lingered longer than we thought he would. As my mom said, "It's hard work to die." On Thursday, after I finished with class and a faculty meeting, I hopped in the car, but instead of stopping at home, I decided to go straight to Uncle Joe's first. I walked in literally as he died, with his family around him: Jeff and his wife, Jane; two of their three kids, Joe and Sarah; Jerome; my mother; and their devoted caregiver, Elkie. Aunt Margaret had seen him five minutes earlier before going to bed for an afternoon nap. It was a beautiful scene. Jeff and Jerome made sure their father died a good death.
The line at the funeral home Saturday stretched out the door for a 30-minute wait. It shocked Jeff and Jerome, who didn't expect such a turnout because all of Uncle Joe's contemporaries have long since passed, and it's been a couple years since he's been able to get out and about downtown. But sooo many people showed up. It was a clear indication of a life well lived.
I had the privilege of delivering the eulogy at the funeral. The family's great heartbreak is that they lost a son, Jody, when he was eleven. Jody was my mother's age and her best childhood friend; she's never quite gotten over his death, either. But I saw in Uncle Joe's death a reason to rejoice because father and son could finally be reunited. I started my comments with that.
Jody has his father back.
As sad as any of us might be about Uncle Joe’s passing, there isn’t anyone among us who can’t rejoice because of that: Jody has his father back. I’m pretty excited about that.
It’s that theme of father and sons I want to touch on this afternoon.
When I heard Uncle Joe was taken to the hospital last weekend, I went over. I found his room. And Jeff was standing there over his bed, leaning in, rubbing his father’s head and telling him, “It’s going to be okay, Dad. We’ll get this taken care of. It’s going to be all right.”
I couldn’t help but imagine: once upon a time, that was Uncle Joe leaning over Jeff’s bed, with his hand on the head of his firstborn son, saying, “Everything is all right.”
What a privilege it was to share that moment with them, to see that miracle-because that’s what it is. A miracle. It happens around us every day, so frequently that it’s almost become cliché-“The Circle of Life,” and all that-and we forget that it’s a miracle. The love Uncle Joe gave to Jeff over all those years...that he gave to Jerome and Jody and my mother and all of us...that loves comes back.
That love comes back.
Uncle Joe was born, almost ninety-five years ago, in a house that sat on the same spot where his current house now sits...in a downstairs bedroom in the front of the house where his living room now is. I think of all the years where he sat in a chair in that same spot in his living room, watching baseball, listening to his scanner, chewing tobacco. And when Jeff and Jerome brought him home on Monday, they set up a hospital bed in that same place. So, when Uncle Joe passed away, he died in the same spot he’d been born in.
After we prayed over the body and prepared it to be taken away, and after the folks from the funeral home came, we tore down the bed and rearranged the room and put a rocking chair in that spot. And then we all just needed to sit down for a second. And Jeff grabbed the newspaper and happened to sit in that rocking chair. And I could see it again, Jeff and his father trading places. There was a baseball game on the TV and everything. We had a chuckle over that.
So as sad as we might be about Uncle Joe’s departure, we have to remember that he is very much with us, in a very real way, in his two sons: men of character and integrity and compassion. Men of kindness. Men of heart.
Jerome lived with my brother and mother and me for a lot of years when I was growing up, during the most formative period of my life. He was the closest thing I had to a father figure for most of the year. And so I am very much the man I am today thanks to the good example Jerome set-a good example passed on to him by his father.
Jeff, too, has passed down the lessons of his father to his own children.
And think of the generations of school kids Uncle Joe also set an example for. Hundreds and hundreds of people were touched by this gentle, gentle man.
And my dear mother, who Uncle Joe called “my girl.” “Barrelhouse Becky from Basin Street.” She was such a salve to his broken heart after Jody died.
It broke Uncle Joe’s heart, too, that in the past couple years he couldn’t do more for Aunt Margaret because of his declining health and hers. They’ve known each other for ninety years. Can you even imagine that? Ninety years. No wonder he was frustrated that he couldn’t take care of his sweetheart. Well, now he’s in a place where he can do something about that again.
In fact, if he was sitting here, he’d tell us all to stop fussing and look after Maggie.
So that’s what I invite us to do when we leave here today. Let’s look after each other the way Uncle Joe would want us to, because that love comes back to us. And know that Uncle Joe is here with us, his hand resting on our heads, and on our hearts, telling us, “Everything’s going to be all right.”