Paul Donald.
Unless we could see each other at Thanksgiving, each year on the day of our birthday, I would try to give him a call, and we would share just a few minutes wishing each other well. (One did not have "long" conversations with Uncle Paul.) A few years ago, we went out together on our birthday, and I phoned him two years ago, which, sadly, was the last time I spoke with him. I didn't call him this year, to my detriment, and COVID cancelled Thanksgiving. Life, sometimes, just gets in the way, and the moment slipped past. But I thought of him, and I'm sure, in some small corner of his mind, he thought of me. I take some comfort in being able to boast that the last time I spoke to him, I told him I loved him.
When I was a young boy, he taught me ways about being a man. His life exemplified how to be a man. Because he was a man.
A real man.
A strong man.
A friendly man.
A good man.
A good man.
A family man.
A veteran of the Navy, and though retired, he worked -- which is to say, he did manly stuff he wanted to do -- well into his 80's, with the strength and virility of a man half his age. It was not uncommon to see him up on a roof in the noonday sun, working circles around men far younger than he. A nasty fall a few years ago would have done in a man of less stature, but the doctors commented it was that very stature and strength in his advanced years that allowed him to survive it.
When people die at early ages, we lament their passing as far too soon. When they die in advanced years, we take comfort in knowing they've lived life to the full. At 94 years of age, it is easy to be comforted by saying that he lived a long, happy life. And he most certainly did, for sure. And yet, for Uncle Paul, 94 years just seems too soon.
Because he was a man.
His wife of 71 years, our beloved Aunt Pat, and his four amazing daughters are some of my favorite people in the world. And even though we don't see each other much anymore, when we do get together, though our faces are a little more wrinkled, and our hair a little more gray, it's as though time hasn't passed. And Uncle Paul was always there, always friendly, always willing to talk if spoken to, and always with the firmest, manliest handshake I've ever felt.
His wife of 71 years, our beloved Aunt Pat, and his four amazing daughters are some of my favorite people in the world. And even though we don't see each other much anymore, when we do get together, though our faces are a little more wrinkled, and our hair a little more gray, it's as though time hasn't passed. And Uncle Paul was always there, always friendly, always willing to talk if spoken to, and always with the firmest, manliest handshake I've ever felt.
Because he was a man.
A good man.
Perhaps -- O Lord, just perhaps -- there might come a day when people will say that about me, and I'll know I've made my namesake proud.
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