This summer was hard for my extended family, as we lost two beloved uncles in the space of a couple of months. It reminds us all that time is passing too quickly, and we are truly just a tiny speck in the eye of the universe.
This past week, I too, passed into a new phase of life, middle age, as I reached a birthday milestone that makes clear I am no longer the youth that I was just yesterday. I am now, undeniably, what my son so charmingly refers to as a "real adult."
It is impossible, given the events of the last couple of months, not to at least briefly consider what will be said about me when my grieving friends and relatives are gathered around the urn. I don't dwell on it, but I occasionally wonder how I will be remembered, and what people will think of when my name is mentioned in conversation.
In every sense of the word, how you are remembered is your legacy to the world. Money is fleeting, but your reputation not only precedes you, it lives far beyond you as your descendants, even generations later, want to hear about your life and know who you were.
My Uncle Bud was a humble man. He was full of life and laughter and fun. He had simple tastes and simple needs. He was even tempered, and very hard working. He never drew attention to himself, and didn't need the accolades of the world at large to feel his life was fully lived.
The people gathered to honor his life were, I would imagine, most of the people he cared about that remain in this world. The tears that fell were all too real, and the love that pulled us together in that church was genuine and heartfelt. There is no famous person, no celebrity, that is missed more honestly than my uncle Bud, whose loss we will feel until we join him in our own eternal rest.
At his funeral, there was a lot of laughter as we recalled the funny anecdotes that reminded us of the man he was, and why we all loved him so much. But as I listened to everyone reminiscing, I realized that if I had to choose a single word to describe my uncle, I would choose the word faithful.
Bud was, first and foremost, faithful to who he was - a simple man with a straight forward goal to be there for his family at all times and in all ways, no matter what it took. I never had a moment's doubt that if I called on him, he would be there for me in whatever way I needed him. There was no facade with Bud - he was exactly who he appeared to be, a quietly spectacular guy.
When they hear the word simple, many people feel that it is an insult, as though being complicated is somehow a virtue. I feel the opposite. I mean it as a great compliment, because to me, it means you are the person you appear to be, open, honest, and straight forward with the world. That was my Uncle Bud, to his very last day.
My uncle Bud was also faithful to his family. He worked for many years on a job that may not have been thrilling in order to provide for a stable home and family life for his wife and children. His hard and faithful work provided them with not only a house, but opportunities to travel and explore the world in ways that few people have ever experienced, all with a positive attitude and gratitude for what he had been given. I have no doubt at all that he gave 100% on the job at all times, and that he was a terrific employee, because he knew why he was there, and he had a higher purpose.
Bud was faithful to his God and Savior, as well. He attended church every Sunday for most of his life. He was an usher and a quiet role model for many kids growing up in the church, one of whom, now a pastor, spoke quite eloquently at his funeral in fond remembrance. He was quietly faithful, a servant of his Lord in the best sense of the word, one who walked the life instead of just talking about it.
God gave Bud a capacity to see humor in every situation, and he always found a reason to laugh, no matter what was happening. I rarely saw him lose his temper, even when sorely pushed. When Bud wasn't laughing, it was time to shape up, because he laughed at everything all the time. Even as dementia stole most of who he was to us, his laughter remained the hallmark of his personality, and it is that God-given ability to see humor in every situation that those who loved him will miss the most.
Bud was also faithful to his country, serving in World War II in the Pacific in the navy. He rarely talked about his experiences, but when the uncles got together, it was always interesting to sit on the sidelines and listen to their stories. They were not a generation to moan and groan about what they had been through, and they didn't. They found the humor and laughed about their hardships together, and quietly reminded us why we call them The Greatest Generation.
One of the things Bud was best known for was his nicknames that he gave the people that he loved. When you had a nickname, you knew you were in his heart. He was always creative with his nicknames, and he had a way of making you feel special, even though it wouldn't have been a compliment from anyone else. When we all remembered our nicknames, it was with much laughter, as we talked about how each one came to be.
I love and miss you, Buddy Boy. I am grateful that I was a part of your life, and that you were in my world. You remain one of my strongest role models for living life well, and I miss hearing you say, "I don't care what anyone says, you're all right in my book." These words are so inadequate, but I wanted the world to know a little more about you, because I am so proud of who you were.
If I am remembered with as much fondness and laughter and affection as my Uncle Bud, then I too, will have lived well. We are told that heaven will have everything we need for all eternity. In that case, I see my dad and my uncles Harris and Bud on a lake in a small boat, catching fish and laughing and telling stories, and happy to be together again.
My uncle Bud didn't go out in a blaze of glory. That was never his style. Instead, he slowly faded away, quietly and without fanfare, just as he lived his life. But in the end, those of us who were at his funeral remembered someone that was uniquely wonderful, special to each of us in our memories of him. I can only imagine Bud approaching his heavenly future, and God greeting him with the words we all long to hear, "Well done, good and faithful Servant. Welcome home."
I love and miss you, Bud.
Watergate
