The creek, it seems, swallowed him up.
He and the river were well known to one another, and as it had been with his father (my great-grand-), they had a long and comfortable arrangement. He respected her, honored her, and she shared with him her gifts and peace and splendor. It’s hard to say whether the deal was somehow broken, or whether this was all part of the bargain. He did his part, and perhaps when it was time to go, he left at her hand. I can’t pretend to know the covenant they came to. All I know is that the creek swallowed him up.
The past few days I’ve avoided the tears, fought them back from rolling down my face like sea island thunderstorms. From time to time I can sense them welling up only to be choked back again by my Taurean unwillingness to give in. I am bound and determined not to deal with my emotions, and I shall not until I am good and goddamn ready. I cannot, regardless, because someone has to stand as the bulwark between chaos and order, between the calm of Thursday morning and the unremitting monsoon of this weekend.
This weekend when the sky fell and only stopped long enough to give us his body back.
I would write more, but the words would do him no justice.
Rest in peace, Uncle Jimmy.