For you, my sweet uncle.

I recently lost my uncle. Recently as in Monday night (January 6, 2014). Those who know - sorry, knew- him might remember him as an alcoholic, but I remember him as my young, tan uncle who used to live with us every now and again when I was growing up. He always had that tan. And his curly hair. I assumed it was permed because that was the style for a while, but now I know it was natural. I always thought he was the coolest. Even when he wrecked my parents' car into a ditch because it "pulled to the right." Even when he passed out in the front yard in the middle of the night. You see, I think when you are a kid, you see who people really are: I think kids see the essence of your soul. The essence of my uncle's soul was good. He was a good man consumed by an addiction. A disease. I am pretty sure it was his escape from reality because his parents died when he was a young boy. They say when something traumatic happens to you that you quit maturing emotionally at that moment. I am sure this happened with my uncle. My uncle who couldn't bare hospitals, hospices, or any place that had anything to do with death. No funerals, graveyards, or memorial services. Nothing. What I am struggling with right now is that I am hurting for that little boy who has crossed over to that place he was terrified of going to. The other side. The land of the dead. I pray that my uncle is with the lambs. I think he is for as I said before, he was good; but like the prodigal son he lost his way. I know my uncle knew and feared the Lord. I think that fear is probably what helped keep him in hiding. I pray for those lost and ashamed children who can never grow up emotionally because of horrible, terrible wounds that never heal. I pray that they find their way to the comforting arms of our Lord in Heaven. I pray that my uncle knows how much he was loved, flaws and all. For we are all flawed. We are all bad. Unfortunately it is sometimes those whose hearts are too tender that wind up the most lost. May you rest in peace in eternity, Uncle LaBron. I love you. Always. (May 31, 1956 - Jan 6, 2014)