My uncle - Larry Richard Reed
My uncle passed away this morning after a lengthy battle with cancer. He was one of the first black surfers in Southern California during the early sixties. This was at a time when a lot of the beaches were still segregated (yes, even Los Angeles lived under segregation back then). He was an iconoclast too (it runs in the family). He collected and trained pigeons, loved fishing and classic rock like The Stones. He was tall and skinny with a big afro. Even while everyone else was jheri-curling their hair, uncle Larry just let his grow. He was always kind of a hippie. He was in the trucking business like his father and my father. Together, those three pretty much built was is the modern L.A. and Century City skylines, something I seldom miss a chance bragging to snobby westsiders. They were truckers--my uncle's CB handle was 'The One Mighty Witch Doctor' and my father was 'The L.A. Maniac' (because he drove like one, lol). He drove an old green MG roadster and was a jet engine mechanic in the service.
Right now, I'm numb.. Death is one of those things I have my own ways of dealing with. I loathe funerals, always have. I see them as family drama times ten and a way for people who really didn't give a damn to pretend that they did. I'm certainly not going to sit in front of a gray casket with nothing but a shell inside when my uncle was such a lively personality. He might have been skinny but he had presence. I'll miss hearing him and my dad call each other silly names like "lonnie lunchmeat". I will mourn my uncle in my own way and in my own time. To be honest, I don't think he'd be happy about all of the tears and stuff. I may start surfing again myself as a tribute to the awesome person he was.
The only thing that comforts me is that he didn't suffer in the end. My father (his brother) and my aunt (his wife) were there and he saw them and he knew that we all loved him. He took one deep breath and slipped the bonds of this mortal coil. He didn't have to be hooked up to any machines, save the morphine drip. The doctors had given him two months last year. My uncle lived for four months, even celebrating his birthday. I worry about my father. He broke down and that made me lose it. My brother is even worse. He's very angry with God and the last thing anyone can do or say is to start talking about "God's plan". My brother might go off and punch them in the face.
I've cried a little, but want to cry when I don't have to excuse it and when I can let the tears run down my cheeks and the snot run down my nose and my body racked with sobs. I don't want sympathy or scriptures or any of that, at least not yet. In the immortal words of country-western singer Terri Clarke, "I just want to be mad/sad for a while".
My uncle Larry rocked! I love him and miss him.
Right now, I'm numb.. Death is one of those things I have my own ways of dealing with. I loathe funerals, always have. I see them as family drama times ten and a way for people who really didn't give a damn to pretend that they did. I'm certainly not going to sit in front of a gray casket with nothing but a shell inside when my uncle was such a lively personality. He might have been skinny but he had presence. I'll miss hearing him and my dad call each other silly names like "lonnie lunchmeat". I will mourn my uncle in my own way and in my own time. To be honest, I don't think he'd be happy about all of the tears and stuff. I may start surfing again myself as a tribute to the awesome person he was.
The only thing that comforts me is that he didn't suffer in the end. My father (his brother) and my aunt (his wife) were there and he saw them and he knew that we all loved him. He took one deep breath and slipped the bonds of this mortal coil. He didn't have to be hooked up to any machines, save the morphine drip. The doctors had given him two months last year. My uncle lived for four months, even celebrating his birthday. I worry about my father. He broke down and that made me lose it. My brother is even worse. He's very angry with God and the last thing anyone can do or say is to start talking about "God's plan". My brother might go off and punch them in the face.
I've cried a little, but want to cry when I don't have to excuse it and when I can let the tears run down my cheeks and the snot run down my nose and my body racked with sobs. I don't want sympathy or scriptures or any of that, at least not yet. In the immortal words of country-western singer Terri Clarke, "I just want to be mad/sad for a while".
My uncle Larry rocked! I love him and miss him.