Today would have been my Great Uncle Larry’s 73rd birthday.
A great-uncle might sound like an obscure relative, but Uncle Larry was more like an extra grandfather. He never married and never had children of his own, so I guess he treated me like a grandchild.
He always had time for me. I used to call him and tell him it was a holiday: “Mandi Day!” and that we should celebrate. And we’d go out someplace for a day of fun. He took me everywhere — amusement parks, the beach, the zoo, parks and any other place he could dream up.
In the wintertime, he would take me sled-riding. I had a two-person sled and he’d ride down the hill with me. I always made him ride in front so the snow wouldn’t hit me in the face. Then I’d ride in the sled while he pulled me back up the hill. He never minded.
He was the head engineer on the Mississippi Queen and Delta Queen steamboats. He would work a month and be off a month. During the months he worked, he never failed to mail me Care Bear or Strawberry Shortcake greeting cards, just to say “love you and miss you.” He always brought me pictures from the steamboat races on the Mississippi annually — I was always excited when his ship won. He also always brought me Mardi Gras beads, because his ship always docked in New Orleans during the celebrations.
Before I was born, he worked on big grain boats that travelled the great lakes. He also worked on huge ships on the ocean in the far east. He served in the Army infantry during the Korean war. He traveled the world and saw so much.
Uncle Larry passed away five years ago, on February 23, 2005. He had been fighting leukemia. He was finishing up chemotherapy and was getting better. He was in good spirits and always laughed that he had always wanted to shave his head to see what it would look like, but had never been brave enough to do so, so he was excited to see what it looked like when his hair fell out.
It was so unexpected. He seemed so much better. We found him on his couch. He had laid down to take a nap, and just never woke up. It was peaceful. Everyone should be that lucky when their time comes.
Miss you, Uncle Larry — but I’ll never forget you, or the life-lessons you taught me. Rest in peace and I’ll see you on the other side.
