10/17/05---My Uncle Herb

So I got the phone call from my parents last week, telling me that my Uncle Herb, my mother's oldest brother had been taken to the hospital and was not doing well.
It was also expected that he would not be leaving the hospital either.  He had been having health problems for a number of years, in part to his age (85) and other things.  But you could never say that Herb Bunton didn't get his fair share of time.
85 years is a long life for anyone, and he lead an interesting life.  What I didn't know was just how interesting...and what an opportunity I missed to talk to him about it.

My earliest memory of my uncle was visiting him at his home where he raised collies.
When I say he raised collies....I mean he RAISED collies.  At the time of the visit, I think he had like 29 of them.  Over the years, he eventually got a farm and a few years ago my sister and I visited him and he very proudly showed us some of his livestock and his land.  He had lead a hard life, taken his share of bumps and bruises and seemed to have found a little peace working his land. 

So I flew up to Jacksonville to join my family on a trip to attend his funeral and honor his memory.  I had told my brother on the trip that people usually attend funeral for three reasons.
1) To honor the deceased
2) To see relatives they haven't seen in years.
3) To eat.
It was fairly simple, but that's how it goes.  Unfortunately, there was some squabbling going on within Uncle Herb's family and so all those that we had hoped to see weren't there.  But I got to see my cousin Robin, who was so much a part of my life when I was younger.  I hadn't seen her in over 10 years (seemingly a lifetime ago) and when I first saw her, I told my mother what my first thought was.

"Damn, she got old."

And then I realized that so had I, and that she was probably thinking the same thing.

And so we made our way to the funeral home.  I walked in and looked at a sea of faces that I didn't recognize.  A whole generation of family had come along and I didn't know any of them.  The service itself was a simple one, with the obligatory singing of Amazing Grace, although the version as sung was very touching.

And after the service was over, and I made my way to the cemetary, I availed myself of the opportunity to look at the pamphlet that the funeral home had provided.  It usually gives you a sketch of the person's life, with some of the highlights featured.  And three words jumped off the page at me.

NORMANDY
OMAHA BEACH

How did I not know?  How could I have not known that my uncle had served his country in the greatest conflict in world history?  How could I have not taken advantage of this and talked to him about his memories?  I felt ashamed of myself.
I felt saddened not only for the loss of my uncle, for the loss of my mother's brother, but for that lost opportunity to sit at my uncle's feet and have the honor of hearing about his service to our country. 

I don't do funerals well.  I guess its just my way.  I chose not to go and look at the body...not out of any disrespect...but because its just not my way.  Maybe it allows for a sense of detachment from the situation.  And maybe that detachment was with me, even as the military honor guard fired its guns 21 times, and as the bugler played "taps".  I had that sense of detachment as the flag was taken off of his casket and folded ever so carefully.  I had that sense of detachment as the young naval sailor approached his oldest child, my cousin Yvonne, with the folded flag and said:

"With the appreciation....of a grateful nation."

And the detachment was gone.....and I thought about those three words....and I realized that I lost....much, much more than just an uncle.

Later,
Jeff