Last week, my uncle passed. It wasn’t from Covid, but Cancer (one of the many terrible C words in our culture).
For those who remember Uncle Ricky, he was a quirky guy. He lived with my family many times, and was known to hate beds and couches and preferred to sleep on the floor (like under my dining room table or wherever there was space, scaring my friends who might be sleeping over if they got up to go to the bathroom!)
When he was born, they didn’t diagnose and categorize mental disabilities as much as they do now, but like my mom (his sister) always said “He was born different.”
My mom lived her life supporting him, and went into the field of mental health because of him and the way that society and even those closest to him at times treated him. As we see so vividly now in our society; often what we don’t understand, we invalidate.
Though Uncle Ricky had some disabilities, he had abilities that so
many others in this world lack.
Uncle Ricky had the ability to remember anything you said you needed for your house that he could get at a flea market, and he had the ability to buy it for you, even if it was from his last dime.
Uncle Ricky had the ability to move past whatever family issues had transpired from the last family gathering, and without question invite you over the next day. He was the one person I knew who always wanted visitors even if they were sick, even if they were in a bad mood, even if they were mad at him.
Uncle Ricky had the ability to put his family first, even at the expense of being rude to others in public (which was typically embarrassing but once in a while humorous), and his unconditional love for his family is one of the greatest lessons he ever taught me.
Uncle Ricky had the ability to be an avid church goer, with an unwavering faith in God, involved in his church until his health left him, still keeping in touch with his pastors until his death.
Last but not least, Uncle Ricky had the ability to be generous. What little he had, he’d give to others in need. One of his favorite pastimes was going to grocery stores and stocking his shelves, and giving away the food to those who needed or wanted it.
Uncle Ricky wasn’t perfect, like all of us, and his Achilles heel was his anger.
He was angry that for him, life was harder.
It was harder for him to keep a job, to have many relationships, it was harder for him to do everyday things than it is for most of us.
And he knew that. But it never stopped him from living the best life he could.
This post is an ode to Uncle Ricky, and to my mom;
and dad;
who deserve any love you might give to this post, for taking care of him, and loving him unconditionally until the day he died, like so many others in this world couldn’t.
Next time you meet someone who is “born different” in whatever way that is, I hope that you can look past their differences and love them for who they are, and what they bring to our world. I know I will miss my Uncle, our regular chats, his jokes and most importantly his unconditional love. RIP
