Snapshot

My Uncle Dale faithfully read my blog and would send me messages--though he never commented publicly.   He told me once "...I have never written a letter to the editor of a newspaper wither, even though I read it daily."  He was just quietly checking in on my world.  He told me on several occasions he loved my writing.  That is what is great about uncles--they love what you do because you are you.

I miss him.

He is still one of my few followers in the virtual world.  Sometimes I look at his picture and smile.  He sports his beautiful gray hair handsomely, just like my dad.  Cyberspace offers immortality for a moment.

He was my youngest uncle, a mere 13 years my senior.  Thus, I thought he was pretty cool.

Memories are funny things.  Often the random moments are what we remember. 

The last time I saw him, we were cruising around the bay area.  I had picked him and his youngest son up early that morning.  We walked beneath the redwoods.  Then we cruised down the winding road to the ocean.  Along the way, he remarked, "You are a very good driver.  It is tough driving this suburban on this narrow road--and you don't even make me nervous!"  He was smiling, but he meant it.

Of course, he spent his life driving heavy equipment--and he was very good at it, so his compliment made my heart sing.  Later my dad would tell a story about how his little brother was driving the tractor home in the pouring rain and rolled into the creek.  Luckily he wasn't hurt, but extracting the tractor was an ordeal.  I guess he learned lessons along life's way too--that made him the driver (person) he became.

At Christmastime 2 1/2 years ago we were all together at a cabin in Lead.  I  insisted on a photo of my dad with his sister and brother.  They reluctantly participated.

Check out this dutiful enthusiasm.

Mischievously placing the hat on an unsuspecting sister's head changed everything (I think my dad was responsible).  But I love each one of these smiles!  I can even hear the laughter...

One of the few photos I have with my Uncle Dale is from the night I graduated.  I was 17.  He was 30.  I framed this photo and took it to college because he quietly insisted I should go and make the most of the opportunity.  It reminded me to work hard.

I do not know what we were laughing about all those years ago (was it perhaps my dad's antics again?)

I still treasure this 80s snapshot.

And I am relieved that he is no longer haunted by the pain of his short battle with cancer.

But, I still miss him.