My Late Uncle Amar

Originally posted July 7th, 2003. Worth keeping.

On Thursday night, I received a call that changed the days in between now and then - and the days to come. I found out from a cousin that my Uncle Amar had died at about 10:00 p.m. of a heart attack. It was anticipated, perhaps, but completely unexpected.

I stayed with his wife and my cousin over the course of events that followed, up until last night - and made good on the promises made to Uncle Amar; promises I volunteered him and which he accepted during his last year of breath. He remains my Uncle, he remains my Godfather. He remains my friend.

And now, after these promises have been kept, I can grieve. Yesterday, after 73 hours with 1 hours sleep, I slept. I awoke with my cousin to help him collect the ashes of his father, and to help him dispose of them.

Uncle Amar and I, over the years, have enjoyed what can only be termed as a volatile relationship - as I grew, our experiences lead us down separate paths. We didn't see eye to eye on many things, we never really told each other how much we meant to each other - but that was our way. Whether it was a good way or a bad way, I do not know. I do know that I miss knowing that he is there when I need him, though I haven't needed him in a long time. Or maybe I did and didn't know. There are always questions during these times, always little things that one wonders about.

He started me down my path in quite a few ways. Aside from feeding my interest in computers at a young age, he instilled in me that a Man's Word of Honour is all a man ever has. He taught me that balance is something to strive for, yet is never attained. He taught me that focus is important, that change is the only constant we have in our lives, and that strength of love is sometimes determined by how hard one can stand being to one which you care about. He taught me that life is something to take seriously, and the we should never take ourselves too seriously.

He taught me when to let go, and when to hold close. And now he teaches me again.

As we performed the various Hindu rites he wished - his son, Ricky, myself, Samin and Manu (fellow nephews) and my father (his brother) - I could almost see him sitting in his black chair in the gallery downstairs in his house, saying Shushh... I can't think! :)

This was his way, and I agree with him. Windbags should not do funeral ceremonies. I have to apologize to him about the windbag that arrived 30 minutes late. When it is my time, burn me or feed me to the fish; my life will have been my ceremony.

As a Buddhist, I saw his illusion to me removed - what he was in his mortal shell transformed to what he really was to me. To what he really is to me. I saw his suffering removed; I saw his face as peace... and as I stood and watched his body cremated on Mosquito Creek, I stood barefoot on the hot blacktop. I saw his body consumed by flame; I saw the smoke take his shell away. I saw his shell leave him there, leaving only his essence behind, and then the essence seemed to disappear - but then I saw him in everything.

There are no regrets I have about our relationship, no misgivings... Nothing I would do differently.

But I am changed by this loss, I am changed by the removal of his shell, and I am changed by the realization that his hand, heart and mind will still be felt wherever those who knew him are.

Taran