my uncle

On Sunday, my Uncle Preston passed away, peacefully, in his sleep. I am heading to Utah on Thursday for a quick trip in order to attend the graveside. I, like this woman on NPR's This I Believe, believe in always going to the funeral. To be with family, to mourn and remember, together.

My first memory of Preston is from when I was nine. We were in Texas, visiting Grandma, and I was sitting in the den. Probably watching TV, like I did most of that visit, to avoid the heat. Preston walked in from the carport door, and greeted us familiarly. I, however, had no idea who he was and why he's just walked into the house without so much as a knock on the door. He had a thick Texan accent, and a couple missing teeth (from getting in fights, he explained).

"Do ya'll know who I am?" he asked. I shook my head no.

"I'm yer Uncle Preston, yer mama's brother," he said.

That summer, he took us to one of the many ponds on the property, and showed up his fish traps. I remember him telling a story about using a baseball cap as bait--and that darn fish ate it, too. He showed us where the blackberry bushes were, which we picked bare. He showed my brothers how to use his old pellet gun, using old cans as targets, and my brothers taught me. That's when I killed my first rodent, with that gun, and I felt guilty about it for years. Not the natural hunter, me.

My last memory of him is from this summer, in June. I attended a cousin's wedding reception, and he was there. I walked across the lawn toward him and Grandma, and Aunt April and Uncle Kirk. Preston was in his wheelchair, his form of transportation for years now. Everyone was surprised to see me, didn't know I was in town. Someone asked Preston if he knew who I was--we five girls look too much alike for him to keep track of which one is which--and he said, in a voice slurred by poor health, "Sure, she's Shelley's daughter. I don't know which one, I can't keep track, sorry, honey, but I know she's Shelley's daughter. I seen it in her smile. You were walking across the lawn, there, and I could tell, I could see your smile. And it's just like Shelley's, isn't it?"