Thursday, September 27, 2007

bad news

Last Saturday, after a very busy and hectic weekend, I got a call from my mom at about 10:30, just after Matt walked out the door to go to Infradig's last show. She called to tell me that my uncle Richard died earlier in the evening (Sept. 22, 6:10pm). Most people ask me, "Were you close to him?" It's a complicated answer. He was my mom's older brother and I spent a lot of time with his family when I was little and we still see them at least once a year. His sons are like my older brothers, pranks and all. Some of my best memories were made in his company. My aunt Sally, his wife, was probably the aunt that I'm closest to. Both of them loved the arts. Aunt Sally plays the cello and the piano and Uncle Richard was an amazing baritone. Holidays always included Uncle Rich's booming voice, my cousin Charlie's violin, and Aunt Sally's talents on the piano. Everyone else sang along and savored every minute. My uncle Rich was also an amazing cook. He was the first person to introduce me to mojo criollo (sp?). My apologies to those of you who've never tasted it on your thanksgiving turkey. When Uncle Richard was in a room, he filled it, and yet, he was gentle enough that my children snuggled up in his lap to hear him read to them. I write this, the evening after his funeral. I'm in shock. Rich's death was so sudden. Squinting into the glare of the evening sun, a 17-year-old boy pulled out in front of Rich's motorcycle and Rich died instantly. This isn't to say, that his death was an accident as far as it concerns God's sovereignty. God took him home, regardless of how. Still, my grandparents are without their only son, my aunt is a widow, my three cousins have lost their father, and countless others of us who loved him dearly are suffering. I don't pretend to feel the depths of hurt that my mother or my grandmother feel, but when someone you love dies it's hard not to feel sucker-punched. Of course, the comfort is in knowing that Rich is in Heaven, happier than we know. We love a God who understands the pain of death, who lessened it's sting. I'll probably post more later. Right now, my benadryl is kicking my mental butt and I think I'll head to bed. Please pray for our family and sorry for the stream of consciousness blog. I'm too tired to be organized or well spoken.


linda said...

Karen, I'm praying for you... so hard and so sudden.

Marsha said...

Well said daughter, He will be sorely missed. We treasure so many good memories and personal experiences. I hate to correct a minor point but Sally plays the Cello,(whatever). You were special to Rich also and he could really connect with Matt about bikes and such. Mom