Let Me Give You My Heart

I lost one of my favorite uncles this week. 

Although it wasn't entirely unexpected, given that he'd been ill for over a month, I don't think I was fully prepared to lose him so young. He wasn't even seventy. At sixty-seven, he could pass for fifty on his worst day.

Going through some of his items, stored in my garage ever since we let go of my grandparents' Mississippi Delta home of sixty-plus years—a death of its own, really—I came across this sweet card, probably drawn when he was just a little boy in Catholic school, most likely for his favorite person in all the world: his mama.

"I love you! Let me give you my heart," it reads.

Coming from my uncle, it's a bit ironic. He was like a porcupine, cute as could be until you got too close. He never married and never had a serious relationship (that I know of). I feel certain he passed holding onto some heartache, but maybe—Lord, hopefully—some memories of a good love too. The writings I found scribbled on pieces of paper and tucked away in an old Hallmark card box tell me he certainly wanted to be loved.

Humans are not black or white, all or nothing, although we're taught very early on by those in authority that we should be. 

As that veil of power has been torn, thanks to social media, we've learned—especially this decade—that the ones who shout for us to live as law-abiders the loudest are often the worst at following their own rules.

What I loved most about my uncle was that you never quite knew what "side" he was on or what he believed to be 100% "truth." He was part-saint, part-sinner, part-devil, part-angel, and fully human, which means not quite whole. He searched and searched for that "thing" that would bring him peace, and while that drove a lot of his family crazy, it was something I admired.

And here's the cautionary tale we could all learn from his life: when he started to believe that his capacity for joy had been reached, his body responded. It gave him what he most wanted. This isn't always the case when we get ill; sometimes we just happen to pull the shortest straw in the human crapshoot. 

But when my uncle grew hopeless, his body grew weak.

This week, pondering that very thing, I've recommitted my will to live.

I love you. Let me give you my heart.