Year Four, Day 12: Full Circle

Verner Z. Goldsmith

March 1, 1941 - May 27, 2018

My Uncle died at 1:40 a.m Sunday morning. I did not post about it until now out of respect for the wishes of my mother's family. They posted his obituary today.

It is bittersweet, his passing. He was an important person in my past, although most of my childhood, I just heard colorful, loving stories from my mother. They grew up on a farm in West, Texas. Three girls, one boy, raised by a widow and her sister, whose brothers and sister lived on an adjacent farm. They were Czech by heritage. They spoke Czech at home. My grandmother was a strong, capable woman who made a mean kolach!

I longed to be part of this family. We had very little family ties to my father's family in Washington/Oregon. No farm. No homemade food. No sitting on the porch, drinking sweet iced tea and visiting with relatives at night. No catching fireflies and putting them in mason jars.

A pale existence in comparison, in my humble opinion.

When I was 13, my grandma was diagnosed with lymphoma. We flew down to visit her. She was not given long to live. But she survived chemo and radiation (and it was harsh back in the day!) and lived another 15 + years! When I was 14, I was struggling with many issues. I was very unhappy at home. I asked my mother if I could visit her relatives in Texas. She called her brother, they bought me a plane ticket and off I went! For the next year, I lived in his home with his wife and three daughters. They bought me a piano, and piano lessons. They enrolled me in a private Catholic High School.

I soared musically that year. I was still shy and awkward. I still am today. But I am filled with gratitude for this man who took in an odd duck like me. Years passed quickly, and although my mother stayed in touch, I did not. I hope he knows how much he meant to me.

I am grateful he was able to pass into heaven at home, surrounded by his loving family, and that he is no longer suffering. I hope that he is dancing, singing and laughing in heaven now, surrounded by family who passed before, and in the arms of Jesus.

http://www.whbfamily.com/obituaries/obituary-listings?obId=3103043#/celebrationWall

I was at the Max station, on my way to visit my daughter and Baby Grace, when I heard about his passing. It was odd, I usually go to my small church on Sunday. But my daughter's husband worked this last Sunday, and they went to church Saturday night. She wanted me to come spend the day with her and Grace. I hesitated, because I felt like I needed church.

But a small voice inside my heart whispered that I needed to go to Vancouver. We had planned to go jogging and out to lunch and do some cleaning and errands. But when I heard about my uncle, I knew my mother would be devasted. She would need her family.

So we met my mom and dad for lunch. We hugged and there were tears. There were memories shared. And as usual, Baby Grace added her gentle, sweet healing touch.

I saw a woodpecker as I walked to see my daughter. He was standing right in the driveway of a house near the sidewalk. Maybe a foot away. He was beautiful. He looked at me for a moment. I reached for my phone to take a picture and he flew away.

It brought to mind that a friend of mine consoled me that birds appear when we lose a loved one. She thinks they are angels. I have experienced this before.

After lunch, my daughter and I headed to the running track across from Hudson's Bay High School in Vancouver. My daughter is wanting to lose the rest of her pregnancy weight. She has taken an interest in running.

My heart was filled with thoughts of my mother and her brother as we pulled up. We put Baby Gracie in the stroller. I walked while my daughter ran.

And suddenly I stopped.

This was the track I would run at. I began running when I was 12 or 13. And I continued when I moved back from Texas. This very same track. And now, here I was on the day that my uncle passed, pushing a stroller with my granddaughter in it, watching her mother run in the distance. This very same patch of earth. But so many things have changed.