Uncle Bob

My uncle Bob died this week.  It didn't seem like it was time for him to go.  The rest of us weren't ready to say good-bye.  It was too soon, and too permanent, but he was called.

The funeral was today, and it was absolutely beautiful.  Every talk was perfect, and each one was very specific in describing the Bob we all knew.  There were no generalities; there is simply too much to say to chronicle Uncle Bob's life to waste time on fluff.  My dad spoke, and his job was to be light-hearted.  He remembered the numbers "34-31," which are familiar to all Utah and BYU fans, and talked about how he and Bob wore those numbers on their foreheads to a certain Sunday night family party, after which Nana outlawed all talk of politics and sports.  Dad talked about how he and my mom stopped in New York on their way to Europe to get married, just to make sure Pat and Bob approved of Mary's fiance.  Dad used the word "urbane" to describe Bob, the suave, debonair ad man who worked in advertising in Manhattan before Mad Men made it cool.  It is the perfect word for my uncle.  As those who spoke related stories of family travels and special things Bob did for his children, I could feel Scott next to me being inspired and humbled by how quickly it all goes by.

I have always been proud of Bob.  I was proud to be related to the handsome man with the booming voice, proud that he would speak to me as an adult even when I wasn't, proud that Uncle Bob was a singer with the Utah Opera.  I concur with every speaker at today's funeral, that it was impossible to talk to Bob without walking away edified, educated and uplifted.  I'm just going to miss him.  My cousin Samantha said that today, when she saw her dad in the casket, it was the first time in her life that her dad's face didn't light up when she walked into the room.

The funeral personified Bob perfectly, in that we all walked away edified, educated and uplifted.  There were a few sacred moments that stand out to me.  Scott and I got a chance to talk to Jonathan, the cousin closest to me in age.  Our moms were sisters, of course, and we grew up side by side.  I'm so glad we had those few minutes.  I got to stand at the casket with Samantha right before they closed it, as she said good-bye to her dad.  She was looking for my mom, who has been like a mom to her, along with Dot, of course, since Pat died, but at that moment, she had to settle for me.  I treasure that.

After the funeral, as we were all filing out, I looked ahead and saw Dot, Bob's wife.  We have all loved her dearly since she married Bob, and my heart went out to her, with her tiny frame, shoulders hunched in grief.  She was walking all alone.  In that moment, Jonathan reached back and put his arm around her, pulling her in as he walked.  Seconds later, I was tackled by my brother Josh, who gave me a big hug, one that I needed without even realizing it.  A flood of childhood memories came rushing in.  (I just drove my kids past Pat and Bob's Bountiful condo last week when we were at Scott's aunt and uncle's missionary farewell.  I took a picture of the orange maple leaf with the house number on it.  2127.  I could never forget that.)  I walked out arm in arm with Scott, Josh, Trajan and Emily, into the sunlight where so many family members congregated.  I gave Jamison the hug that his wife Kris back in Brazil had asked me to give him.  I saw my parents.  It was all perfect, except that Uncle Bob was dead.  It was beautiful and terribly sad.

One by one, I visited with my cousins and aunts and uncles.  As I was talking to Uncle Jim, I had this rather distinct feeling of satisfaction brush by me in the breeze, and I felt like Bob was happy that we were all together.  Well, not all of us.  Well, maybe all of us...