Wendy Nixon
I never met Uncle Bertram in person. We connected through Derek on Facebook about five years ago. Ever since then, Uncle has kept in touch regularly. His posts on fb were always brief but caring and encouraging. I got off fb in 2018, and since then, Uncle and I have been texting. He never misses a holiday, and, in between asks about my family and how we're doing. If there's bad weather in my area, he texts to find out if we're okay. Every Christmas, I get two glossy Hawaii calendars in the mail. We've exchanged family photos over the years. Uncle has been the only point of contact that I have with my maternal grandfather's side of the family.
My family made a big move to another state in the fall of last year. Since then, we've been very busy just trying to survive the winter and spring blizzards out on a piece of raw land, living in old trailers. I realized in early May that I hadn't heard from Uncle in awhile (since late January, I think). I tried texting, but didn't get a response. I tried several more times, but had the terrible feeling something was wrong, because Uncle was always very good about texting right back. I asked my sister to try and contact Uncle through fb, and if she couldn't, to try and get a hold of Derek to find out if everything was okay. She told me she saw a funeral bulletin for Uncle on Derek's fb page. It broke my heart. I cried and cried.
Maybe to someone else, my relationship with Uncle was shallow, but to me it was priceless. Uncle made a space in his heart for me, a distant family member who he never met in person. Our connection was important to him, and he made me feel cared about and loved. Somehow, he was a connection for me to Mom, even though they never connected personally, and he was a connection to a part of my family I'll probably never know.
I miss you, Uncle. I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. I will miss having you check up on me. I'll miss you telling me that you and Aunty Nona love us. I'll miss your caring texts and your string of red hearts, praying hands, shaka, rainbows . . . .
But, I will see you again.
No ka mea, e iho io mai no ka Haku mai ka lani mai, me ka hooho, a me ka leo o ka luna anela, a me ka pu a ke Akua; a o ka poe make iloko o Kristo ke ala e mai.
Alaila e kaili pu ia'ku kakou ka poe i koe e ola okoa ana, me lakou, iloko o na ao kaalelewa e halawai pu me ka Haku, i ka lewa; oia hoi, e mau loa ana ko kakou noho ana me ka Haku.
Until Then,
Wendy