My Uncle Donny was a very special man. One of seven children, the last surviving McGuire, a WWII vet, and so much more. None of us knew...or, perhaps it's remembered, i'm not sure...that he was an alcoholic. One who conqured that disease, and helped hundreds of others in the Twin Cities area to rise above it. Any time of the day or night, he was there for countless numbers of people, most of whom showed up at the service to show their love nad respect for a man who helped them save their lives.
He was by no means a perfect man. But he was as perfect as perfect gets in my eyes. Out of a family of over fifty (cousins, aunts, uncles, etc) we were the only two lefties. We had a special bond because of that, sitting next to each other at every family reunion so we didn't have to knock elbows with the others...Comparing stories of teachers who tried to force us into right-handedness while we stubbornly resisted...He was always ready to tell me about my Grandma Ruth, a woman i would desperately love to have met...and Lord, the stories that man could tell...He had a memory like none i've ever encountered. The smallest details of practically every moment of his life he remembered so clearly...He'd start telling you a story, and you'd be right there with him, living it with him...
Above all else, i wanted to go to his memorial service...i needed to go. But, for reasons i'm not exactly sure of, my father wouldn't allow me to go. He said i'd be able to say goodbye at the family reunion that summer, when we'd be burying his ashes.
Every two years the McGuire clan gets together and basically drink themselves into oblivion while reliving past memories...At the previous reunion, we'd all decided to go to Fulda, Minnesota which was where most of my aunts and uncles had grown up. We did this with the full intention that Donny would be there to show us around and tell us even more of his life as a child...Looking back, i think almost all of us realized that he wouldn't be there...And i'm positive he knew. Instead, we got to hear from my Cousin June and my father (who are now the Matri- and Patriarchs of the family) who couldn't quite remember exactly what house it was that my Great-Grandparents owned...and who definately couldn't remember where the Catholic cemetary was in Fulda.
It was raining that day. That's the one thing from that reunion i remember vividly. On the day we put Donny to rest, it was raining. And that's not exactly right...It was an absolutely gorgeous day. The sun was shining, birds were singing...it was almost idyllic. It was only when we got to the cemetary that it suddenly started raining. And when we left...it cleared up again. Some people call that coincidence...i don't. It was as if God and all of the angels were mourning Donny as we were. Perhaps i'm romanticising...
But...i don't believe in coincidence. I believe in fate and kismet. I have no explanation for the things i experienced this week, but i know that on some level, they happened for a reason. There are too many strange connections for it to be mere coincidence. And thus, i had to write about it. I had to write about Uncle Donny...Lefty, as i will forever affectionately refer to him. And, in closing, I'd like to share with you the poem which was inside the memorial booklet (and is commonly used in such)...i wish i knew who wrote it...perhaps one of you does, perhaps the author is simply that well known Anon. person...But it gives us all something to think about...
When I come to the end of the road
For this is a journey we all must take
I love you, Lefty...and i know you'll be waiting on the other side...ready to introduce me to Ruth, and all the family i never had the chance to meet.
I want no rites in a gloom filled room,
Miss me a little...but not too long,
and not with your head bowed low,
Remember the love that once was shared,
miss me...but let me go.
and each must go alone.
It's all part of the Master's plan
a step on the road to home.
When you are lonely and sick of heart
go to friends we know,
And bury your sorrows in good deeds...
Miss me...But let me go.
