Condolences and blessings to Stella (and to you). I knew that you two were away celebrating that day (yes, I did read your blog!), and I was mentally sending good wishes your way. I’m so sorry that the two of you had to return to that kind of news.

If it’s any consolation, maybe you’re right: Maybe Uncle Wayne and Dad did meet up along the western road; it’d be nice to think they had each other’s company and guidance at such a singularly lonely (in the literal sense) time. The idea has been oddly comforting to me over the past few days, so thank you for telling me about it.

And, again, peace and blessings to you both, and to all of Uncle Wayne’s loved ones.

In a twist of irony, I did not check your blog that day. It was Stella’s birthday… and her beloved uncle walked the western road that day, perhaps along with your father. Wayne will be buried in about an hour. I wish you, your mother, Stella and her family… and of course your father and Uncle Wayne… peace in these difficult times.

J, got your v-mail message, too; just haven’t really felt like talking to people much (in person, I mean) the last few days. You’re one of a tiny handful of people who really know what kind of internal conflict this involves for me. It’s also clear that when you met him, you really grasped what was essential about him - and, typically, phrased it much more generously than just about anyone else would (i.e., “strained idea of what right was”). I don’t know that I ever knew about the “nod of approval.” I do know that he had to admit that he liked you even though he didn’t want to, which must have taken something for him to concede. And, yes, he did have that incredible aptitude for for mechanics, carpentry, etc. - a little of which he passed on to me in spite of himself. I still remember the best compliment he ever gave me (well, not me; he told Mom, who told me, because she knew he never would): It was shortly before your visit, when I needed to drill holes in the carport floor with that ancient monster-sized drill. (You subsequently tried it and couldn’t do it either, remember? Metal plating underneath or something.) Anyway, my father, who always wanted another son, and always derided doing things “like a girl,” told Mom that I “handled that drill like a man.” Which, as you know, was from him the highest praise one could get. Anyway, now you know why you were compelled to stop by the blog (sounding a little Twilight Zone-ish, coming from you, no?). And thank you.

It was a small thing, but I still remember the little boost in pride I felt in myself after winning a nod of approval from him after doing the little fence work at the house. Despite the stubborn, frustrated paths he might have chosen in his life, there was a part of him that pursued pride and perfection in his work and I’d like to think that was the part that gave me the nod that day.