Uncles are a strange breed of human. Not only do they love you like a child, but they also can treat you like a friend. That is how my uncle Art was. Art was an all out cowboy. His life in Utah was full of bull riding and cattle roping. When he wasn't doing these things you could find him working in the shop or out in the field. He was a true country man.
I rarely ever saw uncle Art. Since he lived so far away, I only saw him at the annual Genova meetings each summer. He would be sitting with his big mustache and a grin that was extremely infectious. His eyes never showed an ounce of unhappiness; he always seemed happy with what he was doing. So when that spark in his eyes disappeared, it was jarring.
My uncle had been an avid smoker since he was a young teen. Because of his smoking habits, he had many medical issues. He was such a heavy smoker, in fact, that he had to have a Quintuple Bypass. Obviously this is a huge surgery, but he came out of it fine. However, later on, my aunt Lori came into his room and saw him sitting awkwardly in a rocking chair. That is when she knew something was wrong. The doctors came in and determined he had a massive stroke. He was put on life support for several months before he passed away, leaving his family behind.
This past week marked Art Long's 61st birthday. It has now been 5 years since he has passed, yet the holes in the heart's of his family members and friends ache like the day they were torn. Art is not someone you simply forget about and move on. He is someone who affected everyone he came in contact with. He brightened every room he entered. Though I didn't know him as well as many others, he affected my life in a great way. Yes, he was the fun uncle who would play tricks on me (like lifting our windshield wiper blades every time we left a car), but he also loved me unconditionally and that is something I can never thank him enough for. So uncle Art, if you can hear me, thank you for all of the joy you brought to my life and still continue to bring on a daily basis.
Art Long, 1955-2011
