Goodbye, Uncle Fred

I’ve wanted to write something like this for a while, but I never really knew how to say what I’ve wanted to say without sounding condescending or political.

Unfortunately, today, Sunday Jan. 17, I found those words.

I’m sorry Fred.

It was about a week before Thanksgiving when Fred let his siblings know that he had tested positive for Covid-19. Just a few days later, pushed by desperate pleas from my mother, he made his way to the emergency room where he was ultimately admitted to the hospital.

Intubation followed. Several ups, multiple downs. A glimmer of cautious hope last week.

And now we’re here.

I won’t lie to you; my uncle Fred and I we’re necessarily the closest. I always thought that Fred and I had a bit of a personality clash during my years in high school and college.

It didn’t help that I only saw him once or twice every year or two or so.

But over time, I feel we grew to respect and love one another from a distance. Fred supported my work with the paper, and even shared a few of my articles even if they weren’t necessarily relevant to his Texas home. When I had struggles and questions about my own Christianity and spirituality, I knew he was a phone call away.

If nothing else, we shared a bond over our love of Dodger baseball.

It wasn’t the Covid that took him; doctors had said that his battle with the virus was likely done, and his struggles were now with the devastation it left in its wake.

His passing – like all those others that we have endured since the beginning of the pandemic – is senseless.

I wrote not long ago that we needed to stop our debates on Covid-19; that for the sake of ourselves, our neighbors, and our humanity itself we should work together and do what needs to be done so that we could bring an end to this nightmare.

Masks. Social distancing. Avoiding gatherings. Staying home.

It should be that simple.

Yet along with bringing devastation and loss, the coronavirus has unveiled an overt selfishness. 

That selfishness presents itself in the ongoing argument between “mask and anti-maskers,” in the attitude that “only the old and otherwise sick will die,” in our government’s belief that two long-between payments of $1,200 and $600 would be enough to keep our families sustained while also protected, and in the reluctance of some cities to enforce the mandates that our health officials and higher government have put into place.

Am I angry? Yes. Am I lashing out due to the loss of my family member? Yeah, probably.

But until our collective attitudes change, the hurt will continue.

There will likely be a service at some point for my uncle, however Fred’s siblings will not be there to say their final goodbyes. That will have to wait for a time when it’s safe to do so – and only God knows when that may be.

Until then, I’ll use this article as collateral, to keep myself accountable for the promise I’m now pledging to my mom. I’ll get her out there, so she can say goodbye properly.

I hurt for Nyla, Fred’s widow. I hurt for my cousins David, Daniel, Sam, and their wives and children.

I hurt for everyone who has lost or will lose a loved one.

Don’t wait until you’re touched the way my family has been now.

Be safe, be responsible, and stay healthy.

I’m sorry Fred. I love you.