The one person that mattered the most in my life is now gone. My great uncle, my best friend, and my hero. We did most everything together. He taught me that I am good at woodworking and that you should never give up on something you love. Although, he did not sit me down and tell me these things, he showed me them through his actions.

I remember when I was little, we used to visit them. They were fish decoy makers, so their house was full of fish and sawdust. It still is. Whenever we went over there I chose to hang out with him. I would run really fast to his workshop, he would give me a little fish to sand, and I would sand. I would sand until my fingers burned. I never stopped sanding until we left or went inside. That moment is when I realized I like to carve and work with wood. No individual has taught me as many things as he has.

In sixth grade, I did what no other girl would do. I signed up for football. No average girl would play, so I knew I was the ugly duckling of the group. Nobody supported me more than him. He coached me on how to catch a ball and how to put on my pads after I made the team in seventh grade. He informed me that he was very proud of me and that I was strong for my age, mentally and physically. I remember when he was so sad because he missed my first game. After he missed that game he had to go to the hospital, his heart was failing.
He was transported to Munson Medical Center in Traverse City. He had to have Open Heart Surgery and the doctors told us there was a 40% chance he would make it out alive. When he got out of the operating room, the doctors had said he made it through the surgery better than any strong teenage boy has ever made it through. All of our hearts were alleviated. When he was strong enough to be coherent, the first thing he said was “So what’s your teams football record.” At that moment I started to cry. I knew he had believed in me for doing what I love.

Last Friday, the doctors said he had given up, but the next day he was stronger than he has been in a while. His heart doctor pulled us off to the side and told us he had 48 hours. Nobody believed him. How could he be doing so great, but only have so much time? Yesterday we went down to eat lunch, and they came and got us. They said he could not breathe and we had to say our goodbyes. The last thing he said as my aunt Mary and I held his hands was “I love you my redheads” thats the last thing I heard him say. After that all I remember was blurry vision and warm water running down my face. All 16 of his brothers and sisters were there, all of his nieces and nephews, his cousins, his friends all eyes on Aunt Mary and me. I could not stand, nor could I breathe. I remember that my aunt Mary kept saying, I just can’t imagine going on without him. After 67 years, I could not imagine it either. He taught me at that moment that I should never give up on something I truly care about. He never gave up on life until he could not bare the pain anymore. He was the strongest man I know, and will ever want to know.

Through the 16 years that I knew him, and the 16 years we fought, out of all the siblings I had he admitted to me that I was his favorite. I was the one that looked and acted exactly like his first love and wife. He looked up to me and I looked up to him. He could make you laugh by the words he used and the tone he use it in. When he was nearing the end almost everything he said was with a sad emphasis.

I miss the moments when we carved, when we sat and talked, when we gardened. I miss the occasions when we laughed, when we went snowmobiling, when he was there. I yearn for one more hug, the feel of his mustache on my face, the strength he gave out when he hugged you back. Just the sight of him one more time. The sound of his voice one more time. To give me a hug for the last time. For him to tell me he loves me. Like I love him.