The first thing I felt as I walked into the funeral parlor was not sadness or regret, but bitter familiarity. How many wakes and funerals had I been to in the past few years? It seemed like we were in a constant state of losing someone dear to us. My uncle two years ago, my grandfather the year before that, my grandmother the year before that.

It was my uncle this time, my mother’s other brother. Like his brother Tom before him, Uncle Bill was stricken with cancer. It was an arduous and painful descent and, in a way, I’m glad it’s over. I’m glad that he’s not suffering any more.

We were close, but not as close as I wish we were. I wish I could have done more for him, especially as his health deteriorated. He was such a strong, proud man. I felt helpless, and always at a loss for words. I could barely talk to him near the end. I just didn't know what to say.

Now all I can do is remember him, and keep him in my heart. That's something I know I can do.

My Uncle Bill; the artist, the craftsman, the sharpshooter, the husband, father, and brother.

May the Road rise up to meet you,
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And the rain fall soft upon your fields.
Until we meet again,
May you be held
In the hollow of God’s Hand!