For Giving Life, Forgiving Death
Death-Defying Words
Last time I reflected upon the fatal heart attack, three years ago, of my Uncle Dave and the ebbs and flows in our relationship. A gifted and dedicated athlete (he died at 63 on a raquetball court in a national tournament) Dave was my childhood hero. Our relationship was especially important as my father, for much of the first two decades of my life, was struggling with his own depression.
Then, mercifully, when I was a sophomore in college, dad sought long-term psychological counseling. (Dave and his family had moved out of town, a couple of years before. I would still periodically visit.) My father began to confront his own, as well as our family's, demons and dysfunctions. A new liberating role model returned to the family battlefront. While freeing me up to explore my individual and family issues, this process eventually put me on a collision course with my first male hero.
My uncle was an unusually warm, caring, positive and down to earth kind of guy. (He'd have made a great personal ad.) However, he was definitely uncomfortable facing and discussing openly a family history littered with physical and emotional illness. For me, though, this historical and psychological arena set the stage for my professional training, an artistic journey, as well as my personal salvation. Also, Dave couldn't understand the need to put my creative pursuits ahead of a traditional career path. A seemingly irreparable crack appeared in the pedestal I had constructed for him.
Sadly, we never really discussed the changes that grew between us. At times, a testiness emerged with the retreat of honest confrontation. Yet, paradoxically, his sudden death provided a chance to rekindle, actually, to reconnect, to the psychological bedrock of our past life and pure love. For his funeral, I would write a eulogy to Uncle Dave from the vantage point of his adoring, seven year old nephew.
The Words
My memorial to Uncle Dave and a testament to his spirit that lives on in me, follows. First, some clarifying notes. The opening lines reflect his living quarters during the Korean War and, then, his return to grandma's house. Rusty is his older brother, a playful, somewhat crazy (literally and figuratively) child-like character and black sheep. And Thomas Jefferson, his Brooklyn high school alma mater, where he played football and, later, took me to many a high school game. With my father in the audience, and tears streaming down my face, here is what I read:
I've had two real life male heroes. One is here, the other's spirit has been within me for over forty years. Let me sweet dream back in time.
From the Halls of Montezuma To the walls of Warwick Street
Me and my uncle were United States Marines together. And we would sleep together at Grandma's house in this little bed. That mischievous jester, Uncle Rusty, would be in one bed in this small room and me and Uncle Davey would be in the other. I didn't have to bang my head at night on the pillow when falling asleep next to my uncle. I felt very safe sleeping with my Uncle Dave.
And playing football in my living room. Holding on to that little ball as hard as I could, just like Dave showed me. I was running hard, hard; legs always pumping, pumping, pushing and pushing, crashing into that big, muscled teddy bear. And sometimes, not all the time, I'd struggle to the couch , and make a touchdown. And I felt so proud. And Davey felt so proud.
You were my teddy bear. You were my marine, my coach. You were my best, best uncle. Can we visit Dave? Is Davey coming over tonight. Go Jefferson!
At a very uncertain time in my little life, you were my hero; you were the wind beneath my little wings. Good night my fighting prince. Like you, I too will not go quietly into the night. To quote EE Cummings:
To be nobody-but-yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.
Goodnight my sweet, sweet uncle.
I'll close today's column with a final appreciation. Dave, with your everlasting love, thanks for helping that seven year old within me stay forever young.
With renewed humility and grace. Practice Safe Stress!
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Mark Gorkin, "The Stress Doc," Licensed Clinical Social Worker, is a nationally recognized speaker, workshop leader and author on stress, reorganizational change, anger, team building, creativity and humor. The Stress Doc is a columnist for the popular cyber-newsletter, Humor From The Edge. Mark is also the "Online Psychohumorist" for the major AOL mental health resource network, Online Psych . His motto: Have Stress? Will Travel! Reach "The Doc" at (202) 232-8662, email: Stress Doc@aol.com