I'm not feeling a lot of sadness and grief, I am overwhelmed by all the wonderful memories I have of him.
Like the time our two families got together to go fishing and have a picnic. I was pretty young and being the usual youngest child...a pain in the...well, you know. I couldn't get anyone to cast out my baited line on the fishing rod my uncle had just given me, so I tried. It was more like a tomahawk chop and the bait landed at my feet. I mustered up all my gumption and tried even harder the next time. I tried so hard I threw myself end over teakettle into the drink!
I came up mad, scared, and blubbering. He came over and helped me out of the water. He told me that the next time a huge fish swims by, don't try to wrassle it down myself, but that I should call his help and he would come a runnin'! He then laughed and called out to my father, "Hey Bud! This one isn't happy to catch them with a fishing rod, he wants to wrassle 'em!"
Maybe he's the reason why when things go in the drink on me today I always fall back to cracking a smart remark about it. I guess when it comes to coping mechanisms, it's better than swimming to the bottom of a bottle.
Whenever I hear one of my nieces or nephews calls me Uncle John, I look over my shoulder for the one I was named for. Yup, he lives on... in me.
