What I Will Remember

We got a call from the VA today. My uncle had developed an arrhythmia, and they were trying to handle it. Mom told them we were coming this afternoon anyway and asked if we needed to come on then. We were told "time is of the essence" and "decisions would have to be made." We were preparing to leave and another call came saying he was gone.

Just like that. Gone.

It doesn't seem possible that life is both as tenacious and as fragile as it is. My uncle had fought so long and so hard against so many things: diabetes, a stroke, blood pressure, two amputations caused by infection and poor circulation. The list goes on and on and on. Yet he continued to fight it and deal with all those issues until just an hour ago. Then, the thing he couldn't fight came.

I don't want to remember him the way I saw him last, although in truth that is never going to leave me. I don't want to remember the dim grey light of the hospital room, the window that looked out onto the massive flag flying outside, the vast array of equipment and medicine he was hooked up to, the way he tried to wake up from the sedation because he could hear our voices. I don't want to remember the way he was struggling for every breath.

Instead, I am going somehow to perform a feat of mental deception. I will remember how he was years ago instead. I will remember his quirky sense of humor, that he liked Diet Dr. Pepper and Mexican food. I will remember that he had the same wanderlust that plagues me, went everywhere, did incredible things. I will remember that he was a nurse, a chef, an expert marksman.

I'm going to remember the uncle who used to say "flutterby" to me to make me laugh when I was just a little kid. The one who loved the Fourth of July because he loved to do fireworks in a huge display as well as set off bottlerockets as much as or maybe even more than we did. The one who took care of my Nana and my PeePaw during their illnesses.

This is the man he was before all the other began, before the long fight with his own body began. Even wheelchair-bound, this is who he remained until very recently. I choose to keep that picture with me, and as much as it is possible, I am going to try to lay the other aside. He will be much missed.