A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

Rev. Kate Winters, Ph.D., “Dwelling in Presence,” July 21, 2023

I write this morning from a hotel room near Cold Spring, New York, where yesterday Joel and I attended a funeral service for my Uncle Jimmy. Jim was a good and powerful man, a former New York City police officer, who disarmed explosives as head of the bomb squad and learned to ride a horse to lead the mounted police division. He ended his career as deputy chief, well respected and admired by many. He was then asked to head the security detail for the entire Rockefeller family. And he did. He was the kind of man who seemed unstoppable, too strong to fall and fail. Until he was plagued by a brain disease that would steal much of him away from his family, his wife of 68 years, my mother’s younger sister Marie.

I was moved at his service when two of his children, my cousins, gave the eulogy. Paul, a son who also served as a New York City cop and detective, spoke of his work accomplishments, told stories, and recalled his father’s love for dogs and for the new babies in the family, displaying a tender side. Christine, we call her “Tine”, pronounced “TEEN”, did something wonderful that I have rarely experienced at a memorial service. She spoke the hard truth about his disease. What it was, what it does, and the decision they made with Jim to donate his brain to learn more about this miserable illness. I wanted to stand and applaud when she was done.

As a pastor, I have presided at memorial services where the family of the deceased refused to allow me or anyone else speak of the nature of the death, whether it was a debilitating illness such as this, or, in a few instances, a suicide. These events always felt like a disservice to the person whose suffering went unacknowledged and to the family and friends who shared it. I felt as if I was participating in a charade, as no one learned anything important and no one was truly comforted. I will not do it again. I was both proud of and grateful to both my cousins and my aunt.

Jimmy was my last uncle on both sides of the family. It was a joy to see my mother’s sisters, Marie and the youngest, Claire, my godmother, and my cousins who I and my family spent all our childhood summers with on the eight acres of heaven provided by my mother’s parents that we called “the country.” What a gift it was, the place where I began my writing practice as I would rise before anyone else was awake, pen in hand, and stare out of the picture window at the huge fir (we called it the “Christmas tree”) down the hill that lit up whenever there was lightning in the valley. I remember going into the kitchen where my Grammy would be reheating yesterday’s coffee and have a cup with her. If I was lucky, there would be a remaining piece of Popa’s butter cake to share with her! The thought of those mornings fills me with a feeling of home.

I end this reflection with both a sense of joy and deep sadness. It was such a joy to see Marie and Jimmy’s huge family, with all the babies as a sign that life goes on. And sadness, as I couldn’t shake the feeling that along with the powerful Uncle Jimmy, the world that I once knew is passing, and passing fast. As Joel and I drove around on Wednesday getting down to Cold Spring, we found that parts of this area and the very road to “the country” were flooded and closed due to this week’s storms. The heat and humidity that is plaguing half the country is continuing to come east and to rise. I wondered what kind of world these babies and my own nieces and nephews would grow up in. It is certainly long past time for all of us to become honest about the plague we have brought to the earth. Anything else is a charade. May our grief and our love spur us on. Rest in peace, Uncle Jimmy.