RIP Gene Uhl
Today marks a decade since my Grandmom Uhl passed away. In March of ’96 I had gone down to Texas to visit two of my potential colleges (Southern Methodist University & Austin College), and she was doing well for herself, but IIRC got lost driving shortly after, and decided to head into a nursing home. By the time I started at AC that August she had already started to have difficulty speaking. I would try to visit her every few weeks after church, and very quickly she stopped being able to speak much at all. It was pretty awkward: I’d sit in her room at the home, talking at her rather than with her. I think that my Dad & his sister must have known that she was not long for this world, for a weekend or two before her death he flew down to Dallas so that they could make cemetery arrangements—but I don’t know if anyone expected the end to come so quickly. Possibly I wasn’t paying attention (18 year olds are hardly known for their attentiveness to others), or perhaps there was a certain amount of denial in effect.
I remember grandmom as a grand old lady, well-dressed and well-mannered. She was always very affectionate and kind to us grandchildren; I remember how when we’d visit her at her condo how she’d have tinkertoys and such on hand.
Her home always smelt of stale cigarette smoke (Benson & Hedges, or maybe Chesterfields), and when I was a little boy I always loved the smell of cigarettes for that reason (oddly enough, nowadays I dislike ’em), and when she’d visit us she have to stand out back next to the trash cans with an ashtray in her hand.
Her life was not a particularly easy one, with more than its fair share of heights and lows, but I’ve not heard it said that she complained much at all (she wouldn’t have complained to me, of course—see above how she was well-mannered).
I remember the evening when my mother called with the bad news. I was playing around on my computer, and the phone rang. Mom told me that grandmom had died, and that dad was about to start praying the memorial service. I went down to the campus pub (generally deserted at that hour), lit my favourite pipe (a beautiful Stanwell Hans Christian Andersen churchwarden much like this one) and smoked it quietly, thinking of all my happy memories. When my pipe was finished, I knocked it out and the stem softly split in two, which seemed somehow appropriate.
May her memory be eternal!
