It's been an unexpected road for all of us, I think. Watching him one day be diagnosed with a lung disease and then the next few months getting progressively worse. I was so hopeful and thought for sure that he was going to make it, or at least have a good long while before needing any immediate action taken to preserve his physical life. But the sad thing is, it seemed that it was too late. By the time he was diagnosed I understand that his lungs were so bad that he just got weaker and weaker. And when he did not pass for the lung transplant his body just couldn't go on, and he died that next morning.
I'm so thankful that my mom and her sisters were all able to drive and see him that evening. It was all orchestrated so beautifully. And each one made it in time to say goodbye. My heart aches as I write this.
I was not close to Uncle Pepper in my adult years. I saw him every few years at a family function, or when he drove to visit for a birthday here or there and stayed with Aunt Betsy. I'd have to say I was closer to him when I was still living with mom and dad and they made me go on road trips with them to visit random family, including Pepper and Linda (his wife). I'm so glad they did, because I have those memories with me, forever. And it's those memories that help me remember who he was.
Pepper was a man of God, to say the least. He loved Jesus so much. And it was said that while he was in the hospital, he was even witnessing to the nurses and doctors who took care of him. I'll always remember their tiny apartment in NYC that they lived in for so many years. We drove up one year as a family, and I'll never forget being amazed at how small it was, but how it seemed they could just make any spot work that God called them to be. And for some reason, black eyed peas stick out in my mind on that trip. Was it the food that was being served in the basement of their apartment building that night we came to visit? I cannot recall, but it's a memory I have that's always been there. The building, unfinished in nature, was intriguing. And memories of walking with dad through the halls and up the elevator to visit them is vivid.
And then there was New York City Relief. The result of so many selfless souls, including Uncle Pepper, who helped see a dream through. A dream that's motto is "These Things We Do...That Others May Live." I think for sure that was one of Pepper's many personal mottos, too.
Matthew 10:39 comes to mind: "Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it."
That's pretty much how I remember "Pep." A man of God who would lay his life down for the sake of others. And in so doing, find himself along the way: as a vessel, a piece of salt, light in the darkness. A person who would be used by God for His glory.
He never seemed to need or want much. He loved his family, his wife. And she has always been a trooper, supporting him along the way.
I wasn't able to go to his funeral, which was this morning at 10:30 in New Jersey where he lived. Isaac and I were all ready to go and then suddenly out of nowhere I came down with strep throat and couldn't get out of bed. By the time I got to the docs and got antibiotics I started to feel a bit better, but we would have had to leave that night and I didn't want to get anyone sick as I was still contagious. My sisters, Carrie and Anna, did go though, and they filled me in on how the services went.
My heart hurts for my mom and my aunts (and for his wife, my Aunt Linda, too). The deep pain they feel for his physical life now gone can only be filled with memories. Good ones though. But memories.
I know sometimes grief can set in after the rush and mayhem is all over. And I pray that if it does, those grieving find peace in knowing he is now in heaven. I love you Uncle Pepper. You're an inspiration. I wish I had told you that more. Say hi to Nana for us. We'll all miss you.
Aunt Linda and Uncle Pepper, top right.
