In Memorial

So today is Memorial Day, and I watch friends and acquaintances make plans to visit their departed loved ones at graveyards - taking flowers. Interestingly, we've never celebrated Memorial Day in our family, really, except with a barbeque. Once I helped the Vets set up flags in the local graveyard.

The reason we don't usually celebrate is because there aren't many departed loved ones in our family (3), and they aren't housed in graveyards. But just because we can't take a bouquet of flowers to a grave doesn't mean we can't take time out to remember our loved ones who have departed.

I've only been to two funerals in my life, and I would say that there have only been three deaths of "close" relatives - my grandpa, my aunt, and my uncle.

It's my uncle I'd like to write about today, for he was almost as close as a parent to me.

Gary Dallas Giltner, 1952-1998

My uncle, eldest of four boys, was born with health problems - mostly in his kidneys. The doctors never expected him to live past the age of five. But he survived, unhealthy though he was. Growing up was hard - his parents got divorced when he was ten, there was never much money. What money there was had to go toward doctor bills for him and his new stepbrother, who struggled with drugs.

You know, it's kind of sad, I don't know a lot about Gary's past. I don't know if he went to college or completed courses. I know he married, but she left him. I don't know what jobs he held before we came to know him.

I guess a lot of his life was defined by his sickness. My dad and grandpa each donated a kidney to him at one point or another.

When I was little, he got into a horrible car wreck in Colorado - a semi-truck ran a stop sign and smashed him into his car. It was a miracle he survived, but to add to his medical misery, he was forced to walk with a limp and a cane. I am sure that after that he never worked in the public sector.

Instead he devoted his time to children. From the age of six to fourteen my uncle babysat (or "kidsat") my sister and me during the summer. He would take us out to breakfast and to parks and musuems and to the zoo. We'd get ice cream at least once a week. And he was so much fun!

He also spent a lot of time volunteering with the Boy Scouts. I don't think he officially ran a troop (or pack), but he designed an obstacle course at Towakanie and helped out with day camp. One year I attended Boy Scout Camp with him...they put me in the "girls and little kids" group where we watched movies and essentially stayed out of the way.

I don't remember if there were warning signs at the end - I don't remember what happened. He was in the hospital, but there was no reason for me to think he wouldn't come out. We figured it out eventually, and my grandparents came down.

My sister thinks that it's our fault - or hers. We grew up. He knew he could go, because we were old enough to take care of ourselves.

I just say he's in a better place - I've met very few people who struggled against sickness for 46 years straight, let alone those able to keep a smile on their faces.

Anyway - I just feel that today I need to remember my Favorite Uncle. It's been almost 10 years now, and one day I'll find that I've lived more of my life without him than with him. But the truth is - eight straight years of constant care and attention - he had an effect on me. He taught me. He shaped me. There is absolutely no way to remember my childhood without him in it.

I wish more people could have gotten to know him. I wish more of my friends had. I wish he could have stayed longer. But the people who did know him, the people he helped, will never forget him.