My great uncle Ray always wore flannel, blue jeans and a baseball cap. No matter what season, you would find him wearing exactly that. He had a sort of mischief in his eyes, the kind that keeps you guessing as to when he’s going to spring the trap, or crack the joke. He never knew when to stop. I grew to resent him from a young age, avoiding any contact with him when we visited. Then his diagnosis came in, and I couldn’t tell you how I felt when I first heard the news. I was worried and shocked, sure, but so was everyone else. He was still family after all, even if he annoyed me.

That diagnosis came to us as a shock when we were told early that spring. By then the cancer was ravaging his body, consuming him from the inside out. I was one of the first to hear the news, being one of the oldest children. I remember a few of the younger kids walking out of the room, tears streaming down their faces and questioning what would happen. It didn’t seem real to me at the time. It just felt like it was a cold that he would overcome in a few days or weeks, but I knew that it was far, far worse. Of all the people, why did he have to be the one to get that diagnosis? I asked myself for the next few weeks as the news sunk in. I sat on my bed, wrapped in a flannel that matched those he so adored wearing, many nights following the diagnosis, questioning what would happen, and realizing how precious life was; I realized that time doesn’t stop for anyone, and it doesn’t seem fair. Those precious seconds we so often take advantage of, they aren’t infinite. That realization didn’t sink in when they told me, teary eyed and projecting what little hope there was in the situation into their voices, explaining how we wouldn’t be allowed to visit him during chemotherapy, and how his life expectancy was short, even if he made it into remission. It was in those following weeks that I realized what I’d done for years -avoiding him when visiting, snapping at him and telling him to leave me alone or even things as simple as thinking angry thoughts when he was nearby- and felt the pangs of regret tugging on the very fibers of my being.

I spent a year praying, begging for a cure, and remembering everything I’d done to him with regret, or the things I had failed to do. The cancer marker ticked down steadily as the weeks of chemotherapy flew by, and his life expectancy went up day after day. I only saw him twice after the diagnosis; once at Christmas, where he sat at the table with eyes filled with laughter we all saw through and a medical mask covering his mouth, and once again a year after that day when our lives changed. He was the first thing we all noticed when we arrived in our Great Grandparents home that afternoon, the sparkle now shining brightly in his hazel eyes and the square port sitting atop his bald head like a king’s crown, proud and home from a war well won, with a deck of cards shuffled and set neatly in front of him, ready to be dealt for whichever game we chose to play that night. Rounds of hugs were exchanged as we approached, both from him and our Great Grandparents, whom he now lived with.

“We’re glad you’re okay, Ray,” my cousins said as they hugged his tall, once robust frame, now thin and wounded from his fight.

We spent hours that night talking about how his recovery was progressing, the new homes we were all moving to, and playing the card games we had grown up with.

“My place is right down the road, ya know,” he explained to us at one point, his faint country accent peeking its head through his words. “The first house this side of the swamp. If you’d like, we could go take a look at it tomorrow evening.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” his brother -my grandfather- said to him.

Uncle Ray took my cousins and siblings out 4-wheeling the next morning, while I chose to spend my energy on my books, taking the time for granted once more. They begged and pleaded for me to ride with them later, but I declined and put off spending time with them as best I could. Still, even through my revelation from the year past, I could not bring myself to spend the time I needed to with those whom I loved. In hindsight, I regret not going for that ride when I had the chance.

That ride, and the one that followed. As the other kids clambered into the bed of his new silver pickup, mud coating its sides like a dress, while I hung behind and weighed my options. My reluctance and fear took root in my soul, leading me to give up the opportunity and instead ride shotgun in my grandfather's van. I watched with regret as the others laughed in the back of that pickup, bouncing partway out of the bed with each bump in the dirt road that Ray hit on purpose. The house itself was nothing spectacular, but the lights that danced like stars in his eyes as he gave us a grand tour made it all the worthwhile. To him, the small farm home was a castle fit for the proudest of kings. It had already been furnished; antique chairs decorated in large crimson floral print against their cream cloth and warm brown wooden frames, matching brown tables and alluring oil paintings of autumn scenery warming up the off-white walls. The modest bedrooms were both alike and thoroughly unique, one the color of the midnight sky, and the other an earthy green. Both had a twin bed set in the furthest corner of the room, and small closets on the adjacent walls. The smile never faded from his eyes or lips as we walked through the house and property, stopping to look at the swampy pond that separated properties. We clambered back into the vehicles after a few hours of exploring and touring, driving back down the strip of road to our great grandparents home. Goodbyes were exchanged as we packed up our belongings and made ready to return home once more. Thrice I had passed up opportunities to spend time with him and make amends for my wrongdoings during that trip, and so I decided that I could not leave without making my wrongs right at the final second. I set my bag down my the wall and ran to his outstretched arms, whispering “I love you uncle Ray,” as we hugged goodbye.

“I’ll see you again soon, okay?” I promised him as we walked out the door. We left the goodbye at that as we drove off into the evening sky.

Soon came a lot sooner than we had hoped. Two weeks after our visit, we received word that something was wrong with uncle Ray from his eldest son. He promised to update us as soon as he had more information, and when it came, it crushed us all. I wasn’t home when the call came in, so I didn’t know what was going on until after it was too late. My Dad called my Mom while we were out, and she kept it hidden from us for hours. I recall watching her fight off a sob as I walked into the room after asking two friends for prayer, not wanting us to see her tears and give away what had happened. I brushed her tears aside, although I do not know why I didn’t take more notice of them, and carried on with my event. I knew from the second we stepped inside my home what had gone awry, and my Father’s tears only magnified that knowledge. You don’t oft watch a grown man sob, but that day I watched my father weep as he explained what had happened.

“The cancer came back. They put him under for surgery, but it was already too late. His organs had begun to shut down, and there was nothing they could do to stop it,” he choked out as we sat down in our humble living room, huddling close on the couch so to be near each other for comfort. “They put him on life support, and gave him three to four months with more chemotherapy. Great grandma and grandpa decided to turn off life support a little after one this afternoon, with all of his siblings, children and a few nieces and nephews around the bed when he passed,” he concluded, tears running down his cheeks like waterfalls. He pulled me aside after the other kids had gone to their rooms to cry in solitude, and hugged me tight.

“I wish I could have gone up north with you guys, for one last goodbye,” he said as we released our embrace.

The funeral was a few days later, and was exactly how uncle Ray would have wanted it. The small church full was full of his family and friends, each wearing blue jeans and flannel shirts in his memory. My cousins sang his favorite song, Big Green Tractor, at the beginning of the ceremony, led by my uncle. Friends and family lined up one after another, ready to tell that one story that that they clung to. Stories of learning to drive with him, taking their first drink of alcohol under his supervision or getting into trouble because of his antics. When it ended, the men carried his casket through a puddle after finding no way to get around it. The back roads were slick with mud on the drive to the cemetery, our vehicles sliding this way and that as they inched up the large hills and coasted down the other sides. Had he had a choice in the weather, he would have had it just that, the slow drizzle breaking to sun as we drove home, three rainbows lighting our way.

Now, two and a half years later, I still hold regrets about how I treated him, how I didn’t take the chance to go 4-Wheeling and passing up riding in the bed of his truck, but I know its alright. I made my amends with him when we hugged goodbye the very last time I saw him face to face. After all of this, I know how important my family is to me. They can vanish from your life in the blink of an eye, so why waste a single second with them? I know I won’t waste my time with them after uncle Ray. Even after I head away for college, or have a family of my own, family will remain one of the biggest points in my life. Its importance is something I hope to pass on to my own children someday, and younger siblings as they grow. Because of uncle Ray, I learned one of the most important lessons in life. Don’t waste opportunities. Take risks, go on adventures, live your life with no regrets. Have no reason to reconcile a broken relationship. That is what Uncle Ray taught me.