Dear Uncle Gary,
Today, April 23, would have been your 63rd birthday. The whole family is going to your house. It’ll be the fourth time we’ve gotten together since you passed away on March 25, 2016. It’s funny that, even after you’ve gone, you still manage to bring us together. The stories everyone has told about you have made us all either laugh or cry, but either way they’ve kept your memory alive and have brought us all closer together.
You were always welcoming. You always had an invitation open for us to visit you, and you had all of us over at least once a summer so that we could all go down to the beach together, play horseshoes and LCR and generally enjoy each other’s company. You always messaged my sister and I to ask how things were going or to congratulate us on any accomplishments, and when a visit seemed necessary to you, like when my sister was in a play, you and aunt Jean would come to support us.
When we were all together, you were the glue that held us there. Since your death, we’ve said “the loudest voice in the room” so many times I’ve lost count; it’s almost become our own Wilson cliché. But sometimes clichés are clichéd because they’re true. You were the loudest voice in the room, but that means so much more than just the volume of your voice. You were always ready with a joke or a wisecrack, and you kept us laughing. You helped set the mood of a party with that voice.
Granted, we didn’t always see eye to eye. We had different political leanings, and I have plenty of Facebook comments from you to prove it. Sometimes I felt that I couldn’t post anything about Bernie Sanders without you commenting on it. Even so, I never felt any ill will from you, and although I know you would have kept trying to change my mind (which I think uncle John is going to try to do anyway), it wouldn’t have affected our relationship.
Of course, you’d have to take a crack at me at future family gatherings, but it would have been something we all could have laughed at, and I respect you for that. You never cared what anyone thought of you, and I feel that ideal carried over into the way you viewed other people. Disagreements are common, and they never have to ruin a relationship. That’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve taken away from you.
The last time one of my family members died, I was 3 years old. When I used to look at his pictures after that, I used to say, “There’s grandpa when he was real.” Back then, I don’t think I could fully grasp what I’d lost, but you’re still all too real to me, to all of us. Family gatherings won’t be the same without you, although maybe, with all of our voices combined, we’ll be able to be half the force of nature that you were.
