We Will Meet You There

A Poem for My Uncle

Some people move quietly through life, leaving only the softest of footprints. My uncle was NOT one of those people. He lived loudly, fiercely, unapologetically. His presence filled every room, every space, every heart around him.

He was an artist, not just in the way he worked with wood, paint, and earth, but in the way he shaped the world with his laughter and relentless spirit. He built gardens, homes, and countless memories, always giving more of himself than seemed possible.

He had a heart as vast as the sky, and though it ultimately could not carry him any further, it never failed him. It carried all of us. Even in his final days, even in his last breaths, that heart remained full of love, of family, of absolutely everything.

On the evening of March 15, 2025, he left this world the same way he lived in it: surrounded by love and family. In the beauty of that moment, I read him this poem, knowing that as his body let go, he would hear these words. I wrote this for him. For the way he lived. For the way he loved. For the way he is still here. Still shining. Still bursting. Still brilliant beyond our sight.

Connected Souls, a wedding gift from Uncle P.

When breath slows and the edges of this world fade, 
when the weight of a body becomes too much to carry, 
know this – 
You are not alone. 
You are not vanishing. 
You are returning.
 
You are moving beyond the veil, 
past the thin seam where time bends, 
and sorrow cannot follow. 
But love is not bound to form. 
It does not vanish with this vessel.
 
We will miss you in the ways of this world. 
The warmth of your presence, 
the way you filled each moment with light.
 
And oh, how you lived – 
heart wide open, voice soaring, 
cheering so loud it rattled the rafters and shook the seats. 
You pressed against the edges of life, 
took risks as if the rules didn’t apply, 
loved with a force that could knock you back, 
because your heart never knew how to hold less than everything. 
It gave and it gave, just as your hands and back gave to your garden. 
And when it finally let go, 
it did not fail. 
It only gave all it had left to give.
 
So, know this – 
You will not be gone. Only unseen. 
A tide returning to the ocean. 
A last ember slipping past the horizon, 
not lost, but shining, bursting, brilliant beyond our sight.
 
And when the quiet ache of 'if only' rises in our chests, 
when the longing for one more moment fills our hearts, 
we will meet you in the only place we can, 
out beyond the lines of time, 
where love does not need hands to hold it.
 
Out beyond sorrow and separateness, 
where earth gives way to light, 
where the grass is soft and endless, 
we will meet you there.