In memory of Uncle Landshark

In Memory of Uncle Landshark

I do much of my writing at night when I am in bed trying to fall asleep. Words and sentences swirl through my head. This world is hurting so much right now. There is a lot to grapple with. I had several subjects that I was considering writing about this week - big topics, such as talking to your children about race and how to teach them to value differences. Health issues such as the fact that standard vaccinations rates are going down. Or perhaps writing about more tips on keeping sane during the quarantine….but then this weekend my family and I experienced a more personal loss. That is the subject that won the battle. Thank you for indulging me as I put my memories onto paper. We lost our uncle Steve this week. My kids called him uncle Landshark because of a game he played with them when they were children. He was one of the good guys on this planet. Steve was my husband's uncle, but since I have known him since I was 17, we were closely connected. I chatted with him at least every week or so. It wasn’t uncommon for calls to go into voicemail. He took turns ignoring his cell or his landline, depending on which was getting more spam calls that month. It also wasn’t unusual for him to take a few days before calling me back. This past week, after a few days of leaving messages, not hearing back from him, and a “feeling in my gut that something was not okay,” Sandy called the police in his little town in Ohio and asked them to do a welfare check. They broke into the house and found that he had died. I had been nagging him to get one of those life alerts, but he was stubborn. He was just shy of turning 80, and with a 91 year old older brother down in Florida who is doing well, I hadn’t pushed the ‘younger’ uncle on it, beyond bringing it up occasionally. For those of you who like my tales of the “things that are hard to explain” here is one. Steve was married to Aunt Millie. She and I were also very close. Several years ago when I was at work, my phone started to turn off and restart. It continued this cycle repeatedly. Other people watched and witnessed, no one could figure it out. I called Sandy and told him what was going on. He "knew" why this was happening but instead said it might be time for a new phone. He sounded a bit odd and told me that we could figure it out later. The phone continued to be “possessed” for the entire day. When I got home, Sandy broke the news to me that Millie had died, fairly suddenly. The phone stopped acting strangely. The message had been delivered. This week, before we actually knew there was anything wrong, both my phone and my daughter Alana's started acting wonky. Our phones were making calls to each other without any instigation from us. Not butt calls - the phone would be on a surface, not being touched and would start dialing. Also, the Alexa device in our house was randomly having conversations. There was a disturbance in the force. Now we know. The devices are now behaving just fine again. How to capture his essence in just a few words…..   Steve spent most of his life in the air force as a communications expert. For much of his career he was stationed at Cape Kennedy, assigned to NASA. Yes, along with the astronauts, he drove a Corvette while there! He was actively involved with all the Apollo missions. While not officially licensed, since he was already aloft as part of the team, when not busy he would occasionally pilot the converted C130 plane used to communicate with the lunar missions; he just missed seeing this recent launch. Once retired, he volunteered for the Red Cross as a radio and communications expert, assigned to emergency response teams that were sent to different disaster areas to lend a hand. On every birthday Steve and Millie would call family members, armed with pots and pans, whistles and other noise makers. We would get a clanking, cacophonous rendition of a very off-key happy birthday that is hard to describe. He loved all animals and until that last year or so, always had an assortment of rescued animals that found their way to him.  When Steve came to visit he liked to fix and repair things. He also woke up in the middle of the night and baked delicious mandel bread. I remember the first time he did that, I woke up at 3 am to the most amazing aroma, went down to explore and found him busy in the kitchen. The recipe was his secret. As far as we know, he took it with him (maybe he can figure out a way to text it to me.) He hated butter. He was that person who would interview the servers at every restaurant for at least five minutes about the importance of making sure that no butter was involved in the preparation of his food. As much as he hated butter, he loved extremely spicy food and lived for sushi. A good day could include sushi for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I kid you not. I allowed myself a solid day to beat myself up for not acting on my uneasiness that first moment when he didn’t call me back. Of course I know perfectly well that it may well not have made a difference. I am human and had to play the woulda-shoulda-coulda game. I can’t change this story, but I can perhaps change somebody else's. Do you have people in your life who live alone? Quarantine is tricky for people who live by themselves. How long does it take for someone to notice that there might be something wrong? Please institute a daily check-in system with the people in your life.  Do people have “in case of emergency instructions” left in a place where others can find them? Unfortunately, we have now learned that uncle Steve did not. Get that taken care of. It might not be an easy conversation, but it is an important one