Dear Uncle Dave — and to everyone who loves him,
Dear Uncle Dave — and to everyone who loves him,
I wanted to put this in writing so you can hold it, reread it, and know exactly what you mean to me.
When my world got small after the divorce and I lost my dad to distance and silence, you stepped in without making a speech about it. You just showed up. You became a kind of father to me—steady, funny, practical, and brave enough to dream out loud.
I learned so much standing next to you. You taught me how to grow things—how to pay attention to soil and light, how to be patient, how to try again. You shared your love of the garden (and yes, the proud grower’s craft, and growers love), and you passed along that green-thumb courage. I’d send you pictures and you’d respond with advice, encouragement, and that confident “we can get this done” tone that made me feel like I could do anything.
You’ve always been the person people ask about first: “Is Dave going to be there?” Because if you were, the room would be warmer. You’re the first hug at the door, the laugh that gets everyone started, the seat at the table everyone hopes to claim because time with you is easy and full of smiles.
Some of my favorite memories live outdoors: long evenings at my grandparents’ place, singing around a bonfire for hours, your voice blending with my aunts and uncles, sparks lifting into the night. And the simple joy of small fish—your big hands helping my little ones (and once upon a time, me) catch and release them, laughing, cheering, making the ordinary feel like a celebration.
You are an artist and a craftsman in the truest sense—one of those rare people who can imagine something beautiful and then build it with your hands. You were never afraid to try. You made “sure, we can get that done” into a way of life. Grounded in reality, always a dreamer—somehow both at once.

Comments
Post a Comment