A metaphor for those who've passed on beyond our ken to the next book of their story. The holidays are when you really notice their absence. Especially when you reach a point between generations when... there's no need for a extra table anymore. Suddenly, everyone can sit at the big table. Well, at least until the next wave of babies comes and the cycle begins anew. Longtime Castle Denizen Bloodspite finds himself there this year, as his Uncle Charley passed last week.
It seems to be a family tradition to pass away during the Holidays.
A few years ago it was my Grandfather. Before that my Aunt. This year? Her Husband, my Uncle. The old soldiers of my family are dwindling. In the last decade we lost all of our WW2 vets save my grandmother (who was an WAC). This is the second of my families Korea/Vietnam/Cold War generation who's passed. There's only three of those left, My Father, his brother and my first cousin Kenny.
I'll let Bloodspite tell you about his uncle himself.
When I was 12 he walked in to our cabin with an Ovation guitar, and a gallon of Canadian Mist whiskey. He took the bottle cap off and flung it in to the night and with a trademark smile said “Lets play some music, fella’s!”
I have never forgotten that.
He was my Aunt Betty’s husband. A joyful, fun loving man who had a love for life and music I have never seen in another person in my years. Always quick to smile, shake hands, offer help, advice a comfort.
He would play, my Aunt Betty would sing in one of the most haunting voice I can recall.
He almost collapsed when at my Aunt Betty’s funeral. I cried, as much because I had never seen him cry before in my life, as for her loss.
He pulled me aside one day after a playing and told me “Son you have a gift, that none of us have. you can do anything with your hands your music. Keep at it, I have no doubts we’ll see you at the Opry.”
The way I ended up there is not the way he thought, or I thought. My ability was not as good as i or he thought, but I never had the courage to tell him that because I believe it might have broke his heart if I told him I had given up that dream. He always knew, we just never spoke of it.
He had a stroke a few years ago. He was losing himself in his body. He was not the man I or anyone else.
His service will be held at the church my grandfather was honored at, interred in the same graveyard as the others of my family, in a building my family built.
The ties that bond in Northern Georgia are strong, and deep.
He was one of the few people I visited every time I went home, without fail. I loved him. My fathers compatriot, my inspiration, a man who would give you the shirt off his back and then play you a tune.
Today my world is a little less bright, as one of the brightest souls in my world has went out.
And once again the damn Road keeps me from going home, and my heart cracks a little more.
How could someone who looked like this *not* have been your hero? Unless you are one of those souless city types who are embarassed by an uncle like this. Gad, I don't know him and I like him - simply because I can see how much Bloodspite loved him. And why. Bloodspite again:
The North Georgia Honor Guard conducted the ceremony.
21 guns, the whole bit. Very hard.
It rained the entire time. Fitting as when we buried his wife, my aunt some 15 years ago it was snowing so hard they didn't think the hearse was going to make it up the mountain.
Now is the time at Castle Argghhh! when we dance:
In Memoriam of Air Force veteran Charles B. Marshall, Bloodspite's Uncle.
Read the complete post at http://www.thedonovan.com/archives/2010/12/empty_chairs_at.html
Posted
Dec 06 2010, 05:47 AM
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