That's Where All the Love Starts--and Uncle Seldon

My Uncle Seldon died suddenly on Sunday, and I’m having a

really hard time processing it. I realized why this morning.

I have never thought about the world without him in it. I have never thought about him dying, not being there for family celebrations, and particularly not being there for Cousins’ Weekend.

And that’s weird because his health wasn’t always good.

And not to be morbid—sorry Mother and Daddy—but I have thought about them dying and what life will be like without them. I have thought about how I will process my grief (which we all know is ridiculous because you don’t know what you’re going to do until it happens), but I have thought about it.

John Prine, another soul gone to soon, wrote a song entitled “When I Get to Heaven.” Last summer my son told me the line “I wanna see all my mama's sisters, 'cause that's where all the love starts. I miss 'em all like crazy, bless their little hearts” helped get him through some of his most difficult days. And I know he was talking not only about my sister Meredith and me, but also our cousin Beth.

Thinking about that this morning has been hard. I know about sister relationships starting with my Gangan and her sister Auntie (who Sarah Katherine is named for). They reared their children in close contact. Then my Aunt Donna and my mother made sure we all were reared as cousins but as more like siblings even though we lived in different states. Now Meredith, Beth and I have continued that tradition, and it looks like the next generation will too.

Now this is not to say our husbands aren’t a big part, and they don’t just do what we say. (Man, I wish that were true). But it is true we “Newell women” can all be a little bit bossy and controlling, and we definitely cling to tradition, the husbands go along until it gets “too much” and then they take a nap or find some manly thing to do—like drive to the dump. (I say all this with TOTAL LOVE and they knew what they were getting into before they married us. We’re pretty transparent.)

I don’t remember a world without Uncle Seldon, and I don’t want to. I can hear our children whispering upstairs, “Let’s get Poppa to take us out in the boat.” “Okay, who’s going to give him a rub (massage), so he’ll do it?” Words we said as children for similar reasons. And for the record, it always worked. Uncle Seldon did like his massages, but I think he also loved being with us and with our children, and I think he would have done just about anything we asked even without our bribes—he just didn’t want us to know he was a softie.

These last few days, memories are flooding my mind—some I haven’t thought of in a long time. Uncle Seldon was always up for a joke—loved to make us laugh. He loved to “get something started” with the younger generation. I’m going to miss hearing Aunt Donna say, “Seldon, stop. Do not let them do that.” I’m going to miss seeing that twinkle in his eye and the wink he would give us.

But there are even more memories that go way back.

Uncle Seldon loved a deal. One summer years ago when we were all at the beach he went out to get some groceries. He came home with a dozen fly swatters. “They were only .25 cents each.” He exclaimed, “One for everyone.” I love to tell that story, and I have never bought or used a fly swatter since when I haven’t thought of Uncle Seldon.

The first Episcopal church I ever attended was with my Aunt and Uncle. I was 8. Uncle

Seldon was an usher, and Aunt Donna taught me when to kneel and when to stand. “Just watch the priest and do what he does,” she whispered. Who knew one day I’d be a priest? Uncle Seldon was there the day I was priested. I will always treasure that.

During Cousins’ Weekend, Uncle Seldon and I were always the first up—or at least the first ones on the porch. He’d give me grief about the “too strong coffee” I’d made, ask me how far I was going to run, and share his paper. We also had some in-depth conversations. We didn’t agree on everything politically or about the Episcopal Church, but he cared what I thought, and he listened intently. I got to see a side of him all those mornings and to have conversations I’ll never forget. I’m going to miss that. He made me think; he made me practice expressing myself; he was proud of me.

In the summers I worshipped with Aunt Donna and Uncle Seldon at historic Christ Church in Kilmarnock, Va. Before we’d leave he would usually make some sort of comment like, “Can’t we just do this here? What good is having a niece for a priest if I still have to get dressed for church?” And then I’d get the wink. We would go to the early service before most people in the house were awake. It was always the Rite I service, and I loved it. As we sat in those pews that had been there for hundreds of years, I got to witness a man whose faith ran deep. I got to pray the ancient prayers with him—prayers he knew by heart—a liturgy that was a part of his mind, body, and soul. I’m going to miss that.

On Sunday when my cousin called me while she and my Aunt sat with Uncle Seldon just moments after he stopped breathing, I prayed the litany of death for him over facetime. It was an amazing honor, and I will never forget it. He looked at peace, but I did have to stifle a little giggle as I imagined him saying. “Make sure you get this right, Katherine. Definitely want to get into heaven.” And then he would have concluded with an “Amen.”

Uncle Seldon could be serious, but even when he was, he always had a lightheartedness that broke through. I often say the blessing, “Life is short and we have too little time to gladden the hearts of those who travel with us. So be swift to love and make haste to be kind.” That takes on a whole new meaning today. Life is definitely too short, but Uncle Seldon did gladden my heart.  I will never again say it without thinking of Uncle Seldon.

I had hoped writing this would help me process. It has a little, but it hasn’t stopped the grief. I leave now to celebrate the noon Eucharist wearing the cross he and Aunt Donna gave me for my ordination. I wish I had a picture of us together in the recent past.

Rest in peace Uncle Seldon and rise in glory. May your soul and the souls of all the departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.

P. S. And I'm just going to say it--this SUCKS (and y'all know I hate that word). I want/need to be with my family. I know I'm not alone. Prayers for everyone who is going through this. You are not alone.