This morning I was doing my usual facebook perusal when this popped up:
Strange how things like this happen. How sometimes the universe arranges things to point you in one direction or another. Telling people how important they are to you is a big deal and I'm not sure it happens as often as it should. I've been thinking a lot lately of an uncle I had when I was a girl and he meant the world to me. I'm not sure I ever told him how much I loved him and now it is too late.
This is my father's father, my uncle Ed, and myself. Funny, I was about Cambria's age. Look how tan he was. Wow. Back then we never gave it a second thought and he spent a great deal of time outside. His profession was editor of the local newspaper, but he was an avid fisherman and lover of nature. He lit up my world like no one else.
We spent all of the summer months on Dunham Lake and my Uncle Ed and Aunt Lorraine lived almost directly across the lake from my grandparents. It was maybe a mile walk and I made that walk nearly every single day, even at age 6. I'd pack a bag of books and snacks and make my way, often stopping at other relatives along the way. Uncle Ed and Aunt Lorraine lived at the end of a long driveway that wound through the woods and ended at their home on the lake. To me, it was perfection. In my mind and heart, it still is. The entire water front was good sand beach and to the east was a creek/small river that made the water at its mouth so cold. I would try to see how long I could stand in that cold water without moving. Not very long. :-)
In that beach they had installed a large, rectangular trampoline and man I loved that thing. Even if I wasn't jumping I would still chose it as a place to lay and read or just watch the clouds. Uncle Ed would come running across the beach and fast as he could and jump on the tramp sending me flying into the air. I would squeal and laugh and beg him to do it again.
He always called me Hollyhock and he would often include me in simple things like fishing. I didn't like to fish, but I would sit quietly in that boat, reading or just watching time go by. He taught me to put a worm on and hook and take a fish off. (yuk and yuk) He used to sing some silly song because he said it made the fish hungry. "Come on, Hollyhock," he would say, "lets go look for beavers." , and we'd get in the canoe and paddle toward the beaver dam. He taught me how to stay low in the canoe and to be quiet so that nature would come to me. Often the beavers would swim by the canoe, slapping their tails in disapproval. The times he would let me press the button to start the printing press were especially wonderful. I loved the smell of paper and ink. "Come on, Hollyhock, lets go make a newspaper!" Any thing that started with "Come on, Hollyhock" was good with me.
Time moved on and we both got older. Uncle Ed and Aunt Lorraine moved from the lake house (broke my heart into SO many pieces) and into a smaller home in the woods. After a vacation trip they decided that they loved Hawaii and spent more and more time there. In the end, cancer killed him. He was such a good man.
Last night I was watching recordings of Tyler Henry's show. I don't know if I believe what he does is real and I don't really care, that boy has such a sweetness about him and I just want to hug his neck. Anyway, it made me think of Uncle Ed and how much I'd like the chance to tell him that he made the life of a shy little girl really special and that I loved him so very much.
Go out and share the love and may it come back to you tenfold. Namaste.