Uncle Harold...It was time.

Uncle Harold passed away sometime before 5 a.m. (It was time.) When my Mother called to tell me, I knew what the early morning call was. Fr. Bill was there last night to provide Last Rites. I am glad that he was able to make it on Ash Wednesday.

I stopped to visit Uncle Harold yesterday for just about 5 minutes or so. It seemed like a long time. It was strange that his chair in the living room was empty. He couldn't get out of bed yesterday. For a lifetime gentleman farmer not to get out of bed in the morning, you know something is different. I met two Hospice workers and his caregiver, and my Mom and my Aunt were there.

I didn't have much time. (It was time.)

In his home hospital bed, Uncle Harold was curled on his right side facing the wall...to the north. My Mom started to tell me that Fr. Bill would be coming and something that the Hospice ladies had said. Uncle Harold "said" something. It was audibly something between a mumble and a grunt, but I knew it had to have been something witty. He had humor to the end. I said to him, "Oh, it's all right," and he quieted. He could hear us; I know it.

When the Hospice workers were getting ready to go, my Mom left the room to see them out.

I had some things to say, but I could not say it all. I have always been cheerful and entertaining with Uncle Harold. I did not want him to hear the tears in my voice. I leaned over Uncle Harold and whispered, "I love you, Uncle Harold, I love you." His change in breathing and physical reaction told me that he heard. I said that I couldn't stay, that Soph was in the Jeep waiting to go to music, and I started for the door. Then I turned around, touched his shoulder, and said, "We will meet again." He relaxed.

You see, for years, when I left a visit, I would say, "See you later!" and he would retort, "Are you sure?"

Uncle Harold is 96 years old. Or is that was now? (It was time.)

He was 52 years old when I was born. I am 44. He lived a whole lifetime before I knew him, and then he lived another.

I remember...

...him throwing me up into the air and catching me.
...standing over the heat register at the Farm.
...swerving toward me in his truck when I was walking down the road.
...driving the tractor while I sat on the wheel fender.
...standing in my Mom's living room doorway every night around 6 p.m. for a visit.
...him jumping out of the red International truck to pick up rocks while I "drove" it.
...ushering for years with my Dad at church.
...living next door for as long as I can remember.
...his calm, his wit, his laughter.

He was a good, gentle, sweet man.

I might seem like a good niece. I would once in a while stop and visit him in the morning before I would go to work. But in reality, I was stopping for me. He was so funny, so calm, had such a sweet demeanor. He would, without trying or even knowing, give me a better attitude, a happier start to my day when perhaps I was feeling overwhelmed or angry about something in my life.

What else I wanted to say, but could not: I have fond memories of you, and I will remember you, and I will miss you. But...

(It was time.)