Uncle Chris

Each morning as I press the snooze button to continue sleeping for a few minutes more, I know in the back of my mind that sleep will not come. Kanga, my 27 pound, inherited, feline cousin has been classically conditioned to Pavlovian standards—the alarm sounds, and Kanga comes running to the door meowing for breakfast. Likewise, when I return from work, before I can take off my shoes, Kanga begins circling my feet mewling incessantly. Most people would consider this obnoxious and trust me, there are early-morning moments when this is true for me as well but, for the most part, each time Kanga reminds me of his presence I feel a little warmer in my heart and I can’t help but smiling. This is because Kanga has been the very best gift to remember a gift that is no longer with us, my Uncle Chris.

The last time I spent time with Uncle Chris was in October of 2013. I took the train to Montana to spend a few days with my Grandma Gail and the rest of my family that lives in Montana. For most of our visits, it embarrasses me to say that Uncle Chris went ignored. He was always loved and important to our family but in a lot of ways we took for granted his kindness and gentleness while we were busy with the more “complicated things in life”.

On this visit in October, I surprised Uncle Chris on Sunday as he didn’t know I would be visiting and sat right beside him at church. Being the friendly man he was, he quickly turned to me to welcome me to his church and introduce himself. As he realized we were more familiar than he had thought, a big smile flashed across his face and he began to laugh with excitement. His laugh is memorable broken into loud bursts of ha’s and head bent back as if he knew more than the rest of us how important it was to relish in the joy laughter brought along.

Later that day, my family went to lunch and my Uncle Chris shared his route to work as he walked under the tunnel and across the field to get to Lowe’s. He had pride in the things he did without considering what others might think of him. He simply lived to do his best and be proud of whatever that might look like. And how rare is that? I think this is perhaps the most admirable quality about my Uncle Chris.

Rather than the pride that most of us hold for achievements that we believe make us better than others or lofty goals that we have finally conquered, Uncle Chris celebrated the small achievements alongside the bigger ones. He would rest his elbow on my shoulder and celebrate that I made a good arm rest. He would sleep on the couch during every family reunion rather than the beds all the rest of us had and smile because he had a tv.  

In essence, Uncle Chris found joy everywhere he went. He found joy in the beautiful world that surrounded him, in his home, and he found joy in individuals. And wow! What a feeling when he found joy in me. He was present and engaged in whatever I had to share and he was eager to know more. There was never a phone in front of him while he texted and talked. There was never a worry that interrupted because the time he was spending with me was precious. Unfortunately, I didn’t really understand how precious my time with him was until I didn’t have him around.

My very last memory of Uncle Chris is just a noise. While Aunt Laura, Grandma, and I chatted upstairs, Uncle Chris had escaped to the basement to watch a Seahawks game. From two flights of stairs away we heard a loud and resounding roar of excitement.  Apparently, the Seahawks had done something pretty special. And in this moment of reflecting on the gentle man my Uncle was, I am reminded that perhaps Kanga’s meows in the early mornings are little reflections of the joy that Uncle Chris left behind with us. It is true, that my Uncle didn’t have a life that most people would deem esteemed. But the truth is, in the most unconventional ways, he reminded us all that having only the necessities, making the choice to be happy, loving unconditionally, and practicing kindness always are the true moments that we most meet love in life.