Sat 2/21/26 11:32p
location: my parents’ house, Boston, MA
Today my family and I laid my Uncle Ralph to eternal rest. My father’s younger brother.
My dad has so many siblings (my grandmother birthed 15, and no, that’s not a typo!) and though I didn’t have the opportunity to meet them all, what I do know is this:
- This is the second funeral that I’ve attended in a year.
- My uncle was relatively young. He died at 67. (And no, not 6-7, but sixty seven lol)
- We don’t know the day or the hour, but we do know that life is terminal for everyone and each breath is getting us closer to our earthly death and heavenly life.
My Uncle Ralph died at 67. As in, at retirement age.
My Uncle Ralph died at 67 and when I was in my 20s I used to think, “I can’t wait to move abroad when I retire!”
And when my sisterfriend died when she was only in her 30s, I realized, I surely can’t wait to live.
And my uncle’s death—and life—are a reminder:
I don’t want to wait to live. I can’t afford to wait. We can’t afford to wait.
We can’t wait until retirement. Or when we save $25,000 or $100,000. We can’t afford to wait until we lose 10 pounds. Or get abs. Or have a family. Or build a nest egg. Or our business is profitable. Or… Or… Or…
No. NO. Noppity. No. Negativo!
We must live life now while we have life. While we have breath and a heart that beats. We must live—truly live!—while we have life!
Something that I found very surprising?
Though I was initially surprised by not knowing the details of my uncle’s life—what he enjoyed, loathed, his quirks. How he rested, relaxed. His favorite genre of music. His fave foods. His heart’s deepest desires.
While “to be seen is to be loved”, just because he wasn’t seen by me doesn’t mean he isn’t loved. And it certainly didn’t mean he didn’t love.
To my… Surprise? IDK quite what to call it… I felt a kinda way that I didn’t know my uncle well. At all, really.
I think about my nephew, the kindest, most genius, handsome, generous, chocolate boy on the planet, and it gladens me that I have the relationship I have with my nephew. That I know him and he knows me.
And it saddens me that I didn’t know—really, truly know—my uncle. And that he didn’t know me, either.
“To be love is to be seen.” And I’m grateful he was seen by and loved on by others. And I’m grateful he loved others, even if he didn’t love me how I love my nephew.
Who are you, really?!
I’ve started paying attention at funerals. Taking notes like I’m in class.
Howard Thurman asks, “Who are we, really?” And it’s only at a funeral that I learn who this person is in more depth and fullness.
Doc
I learned that while in high school, my uncle carried a briefcase. A briefcase in high school?! He also wore suits. The perfect accompaniment, no? That earned him the nickname “Doc,” because people thought he’d later become a doctor.
Selah. Sacred pause. Deep breaths. As I type these words, the thought just sprang to mind like Simone Biles springs off a vault: I must conttinue write my own story so no one else writes it for me.
Play. I also learned how generous my uncle was.
His Godson shared a memory and the poem Uncle Ralph shared with him:
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
The Man In The Glass by Peter Dale Wimbrow Sr.
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.
For it isn’t your father, or mother, or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.
He’s the fellow to please – never mind all the rest
For he’s with you, clear to the end
And you’ve passed your most difficult, dangerous test
If the man in the glass is your friend.
You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.
It’s funny, isn’t it?
This poem, written in 1934, is also who I am, what I believe. So it turns out, I’m closer to my uncle than I knew!
Uncle Ralph, born in Montserrat in the British West Indies, carried a briefcase in high school in Boston because he already knew who he was becoming. The world just hadn’t caught up yet.
I don’t want anyone to learn who I am at my funeral. I want to be known now. To be seen now. I am committed to living—loudly, fully, and unapologetically—now. The man in the glass? No. The woman in the mirror. And she’s already packing her bags.
A Prayer for My Uncle and Ourselves
Love, bless us. The spirits of the dead and the land of the living.
You said in your word that you make us a new creature. Create in us, a clean heart. Purify us. Sanctify us. And make us whole, mature, complete, lacking nothing. Above all, make us transformed.
You have a perfect plan for our lives and it is with grateful hearts, bold prayers, and courageous actions that we move from the disease to please people and the desire to please only you.
Grant us mercy, goodness, and grace. Grant us the desires of our hearts. Hearts that are clean and clear and closer to you.
And so it is. As above, so below. As within, so without. As on earth as it is in heaven. Ase. Ameen, Amen.
Small Steps: Embrace Who You Are Divinely Becoming
Right now, in this very moment, you are worthy of every good, beautiful, noble, and sacred thing in the world! Not 20 or 80 pounds from now or when your finances are in order or when you have your dream job or when everything is “perfect.” You are worthy now.
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