A Requiem for My Uncle
In the past week, my family lost the patriarch and spiritual head of our family to COVID-19. The shock of his loss has had me unsettled since receiving the news. I was thankful to get the news of him directly from my mother, who visited him daily in the hospital where she worked, praying feverishly for his health to improve. Before I could register her words, the tears fell quickly and quietly, and the only think I could think was to ask about my aunt and my cousins, his wife and children. When I learned about his being in the hospital earlier in the month, there was a part of me that hoped for his recovery. I also knew that even if he were to have survived, the quality of his life would have been severely diminished, potentially leaving him even less like himself than when I saw him a few months earlier to bury my great aunt. The news of him gaining his wings passed through our church and community in a way unlike anything I’ve ever seen, leaving his wife and children to stop taking calls and only answer to a few texts. And yet, his loss does not seem real to me, even though it is clear that his gone.
Death is nothing new for my family, we have a mortuary business as well as a church that has been with us for as long as I can remember. Lives have been lost in every way possible, yet it was my uncle who gave honor and respect to the families and friends who grieved as they laid their loved ones to rest. It was often him who managed to crack a joke, praise the Lord, encourage the families, and keep the schedule on track from the start of the wake to the final resting place. We all managed to hold ourselves together in these spaces, serving with stoicism so that others could fall apart, giving grace when a many regret was being laid next to the casket. Even when my father, two grandmothers, and great aunt were being cared for as we prepared their homegoing celebrations, it was my uncle who reminded us that we did all we could while they lived and expected us to keep going after they died. He still expects no less of his children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, and countless others whose lives he touched.
My uncle was a complicated man with a past as equally confusing. He was not without fault and flaws, he had plenty of them. I sometimes looked at his life as the handbook for what not to do in certain situations. There are many things I knew about him and others that I won’t ever know. Trust me when I tell you that if his life were a television show, it would have to be on Netflix and have just as many seasons as Grey’s Anatomy to get through all of the situations he either put himself or found himself in. He never shied away from his responsibilities and dealt with the many intricate facets of his life decisions, some great and some that could have been better thought through. He saw his own life as a testament to God being One of many chances to get things right. And for 73 years, he was given every opportunity to get things right, even if it looked wrong to others. He was the one that stirred the pot, shook the tree, and broke the mirror. He was our arbiter for all of us discovering faith for ourselves, even when the community believed that we should do things only one way. He definitely bucked against that (lol).
As a preacher’s niece and being one that always had the deep questions, the one thing that I never questioned was his love for me. Even through my own faults, flaws, and misgivings, he loved me and was proud of my growth as a scholar and a woman. Our conversations will be something that I will forever treasure, even when we disagreed. His spirit and love for music will forever live on through his recordings as well as his very musical children. For myself, if I ever need my uncle’s advice, I’ll be able to go back through and watch his sermons and get what I need. While I won’t ever be able to hug and kiss him again or talk his ear off, I know that he is watching and taking care of us on the other side. To this, my dear Uncle Levi, I love you fiercely and until we meet again.
