Uncle Jim died this past week, at the ripe old age of....well, 80 something. Jim was an icon of Midwestern rural living. He'd been a cattleman all his working life. Eastern Colorado will never be the same, but then, neither will I. I suppose it would be more correct to say that my life would not have been the same without him.

My earliest memories of Uncle Jim were of a kind and gentle giant, with a booming voice that made you instantly aware of his presence...and healthy as a horse all his years. We all thought he was invincible, until he slipped from an icy road and rolled his pickup truck several times, crushing ribs on both sides of his chest and a couple of back bones. He might have survived those damages if his spleen hadn’t ruptured and his lungs hadn't collapsed. He fought for a couple of days, but the injuries finally won.

Jim was married to my dad's youngest sister. Lola is her name. Jim and Lola have three children: Kathy, Carol, and Steve. Visits to Jim and Lola's farm in the summers have provided wonderful memories for me over the years. As I write this, I’m realizing that I'm twice as old as Uncle Jim was when I first knew him.

His daughter, Carol, was just a year or two younger than me. During our teenage years, even though we lived 200 miles apart, Carol and I became very close…..writing letters, having long conversations into the night when we were lucky enough to visit each other, occasional phone calls, since long distance was an unwanted expense, usually saved for emergencies. To this day, I consider her one of my best friends. It was my relationship with my cousin Carol that gave me the opportunity to observe my Uncle Jim and witness a small portion of his life. My admiration and respect for him came quickly and lasted a life time.

By the time I was married in my early twenties, Jim had become a reference point in my life. And through the years, when I had to decide how to respond to life’s challenges, I would sometimes think of him. When it came to being an uncle to my own nieces and nephews, Jim was my role model. He and Lola were at every wedding and every family reunion in our very large extended family.....even hosted several reunions at their home. He endorsed and affirmed our family by his participation in every family function.

Jim was an early riser and a hard worker. The grass never had a chance to grow under his feet. But occasionally, he would take an afternoon siesta in his recliner at home. He had a unique way of interlocking his large thick fingers together across his belly, but, at the same time, pressing the tips of both index fingers and thumbs against each other, with the index fingers making a Tee Pee. It always reminded me of the way our hands look when we recite the children’s poem, "This is the Church and this is the Steeple". I had witnessed his napping style a few times over the years, and it had made an impression on me.

One day, during one of my summer visits, Jim told us of a dream he had had the night before. He dreamed he had died and had been placed in a coffin with his index fingers propped up in their usual napping stance. The funeral director came in and began to lay Jim's fingers down flat against his belly. In the dream, Lola, who had witnessed the "undoing", became quite undone herself and began ranting at the funeral director who immediately propped the fingers back up and made himself scarce.

I wasn't able to go to Jim's funeral, but I wonder how they placed his hands....and I wonder, too, if my Aunt Lola had anything to say about it! She, by the way, was not depicted correctly in the dream. That woman surely had sweetness (and hotness!) oozing from every pore of her body, something I noticed at an early age.

It's been many moons since I've traveled to the plains of Eastern Colorado to the land of our very own "Gentle Giant". I was always glad to see him and allow his hearty handshake to engulf my own. Then, with each and every goodbye, he would say, "Come see us!"....and I knew he meant it. But life has it's way of interfering with our plans. To be honest, I can't remember the very last time I saw him, but it doesn't matter. The important thing is that I did know him.....I did see him....and I did hear him.

As I write, I'm missing him.....but not as much as his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. My heart aches for them.....but not as much as their hearts ache. However, with the help of time, the pain will gradually subside for all of us, and fond memories of a good and decent man will prevail.

Jim is with Jesus now, and we WILL see him again!

.....but not yet!

Once in a while, at various and always unpredictable moments in time, the true depths of the inner soul are opened and revealed. They can suddenly and violently come spilling out like water from a clogged toilet that has just been flushed for the second time in hopes of a miraculous self-release.

This is not one of those times. It's cold and blustery outside, with wind gusts up to 30 miles an hour. The inner soul of this being has withdrawn in an attempt to self-preservate. (I know that's not in the dictionary, but it sounds good....and you know exactly what it means, don't you?)

It is during these globally warmed winters that many like-minded inner souls would prefer that hibernation was assigned to some humans, as well as all bears. Perhaps more flowing will occur in the Spring, when the likelihood of speculation on life's meaning and purpose will be a bit more prevalent. Thank you.....and good night!