My “uncle” Norman passed away a few days ago.
I’m still having trouble coming to grips with his death. I’ve lived in Seattle for years by now, so I’ve mostly only seen him on holidays for a long time. But he’d been part of my extended family as long as I can remember. When his kids and my sister and I were younger, we kids ended up referring to each other as cousins because it was easier than explaining that his family and mine were old family friends. So Norman was really just always there, like an uncle. And people who were just always there…well, they’re not supposed to go away.
And really, what can you say about someone who was just always there? What can you say about coming over to play? About being rescued when his daughters were picking on you too much? About being shown the flowers in the back yard, and the little greenhouse in the basement? About being taken to that house on the lake and never quite catching the big catfish that hid under the rocks? About being sent to fetch things from the garage because you could actually fit between the huge piles of lord-knows-what?
What can you say about being shown lots of power tools? About going to the house on the shore? About stripping paint and loving every minute of it?
What can you say about getting a tour of a power plant? What can you say about being given castoff turbine blades to take to the college metal shop to play with?
What can you say about only seeing someone at Christmas? About seeing someone a little older, a little slower?
What can you say about seeing someone sitting in a chair, beaming with joy and holding his grandchild?
What can you say about hearing that someone is still in the hospital?
What can you say about shaking someone’s hand one last time and pretending that everything is going to be okay?
What can you say about never seeing someone again?
There’s an old Psychic TV song called “I. C. Water” that Genesis P-Orridge wrote as a tribute after the death of his friend Ian Curtis. It begins with the line “Water is the source of all life. Seven-tenths of this Earth’s surface is water. Seventy percent of you is water.” Now, I’m hardly qualified to comment on the nature of the afterlife, but like Genesis I do believe we’re all part of the same system. And I do believe that Norman is with us still. In rain, in tides, in tears. And just as the patterns of waves remain after the wind has passed, so will the patterns of life remain after Norman in those he touched. In his children and grandchildren, in me, in those power plant workers, in all of those people and many more.
I know that Norman loved rhododendrons and other flowers, so I’ve made a donation to the Washington Park Arboretum Foundation in his memory. The Arboretum is a large park in Seattle run by the University of Washington—its mission is to conserve species of plants from around the world and to help train future generations of plant scientists and conservationists. The main path through the Arboretum is lined with rhododendrons. I hope this gift will help provide other people the opportunity to develop as great a love for flowers as Norman had.
Goodbye, Norman.
