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When I was a kid, I had this giant stuffed gorilla. I named it Uncle Howard. After my Uncle Howard.

I always saw my Uncle Howard as a big, tall, hairy man with very dark features. He had a beard and a scruffy voice. He was 10 years older than my dad and liked to tell stories from his childhood. Once I grew up, I remember having a moment of seeing my Uncle Howard with new eyes and realizing that he wasn’t taller than my dad, his beard was now gray, his eyes were soft and kind, and his voice was still scruffy, but almost high pitched. He was nothing like the fierce, brooding man I always envisioned him to be.

I didn’t grow up with that side of my family. My dad’s family stayed up in the Bay Area or Oregon for the most part. We would see them now and again when they came down for a visit, but that was it. My dad and his brother talked all the time though. They would text about sports, and go to my brother’s basketball games, they would call each other to set up trips to ballgames together when it worked, and we always knew Howard was around.

When my dad passed away in December 2020, I had to make phone calls to our family to let everyone know what had happened. I dreaded calling Howard the most. I had to call my uncle and let him know that his baby brother was gone. The boy he had helped raise didn’t make it. I remember getting the words out and him being so quiet on the other end of the phone. He let out a long, heartbreaking sigh, and asked how I was doing. I told him I didn’t know. I was numb and trying to get through the day without completely losing it. Which was a dumb goal to set for myself. He talked to me about how much he loved my dad, his voice cracked, and I held the phone away from my ear so that I could cry in my peace. I listened to his heart break. I listened as he wept with me. We cried together for a while and said nothing. I eventually told him how sorry I was that his brother was gone, and he told me how sorry he was that my dad was gone. He told me he loved me and to call him if I needed anything at all. I ended the call and screamed so hard that I popped blood vessels in my eye.

I wrote an essay about losing my dad. I posted it and over time, my family saw it. I had cousins and aunts and uncles thanking me for writing out my feelings and how lovely it was. Then I had Howard asking if he could call me. I didn’t know what to expect, but what I didn’t expect was a conversation with my 73-year-old uncle that lasted for over an hour. We talked and reminisced about my dad, he told me story after story about their childhood and how he would take my dad to baseball and basketball games in the Bay Area. This was when we realized that we both loved the Golden State Warriors. He told me he had grown up going to games at Oracle Arena, how he and my dad had snuck down to the lower levels at halftime to get better seats when people left, how cheap tickets were, and the good and bad of an ever-changing roster. I talked about my journey to finding the team and falling in love. I had never had someone in my life I could relate to on this specific topic so it felt comforting to know another person who could share my emotions. That call ended and I remember having tears in my eyes because of how wonderful it had felt to talk to him. Not only was our conversation easy, but he sounded like my dad. His voice was so similar, down to their cadence, it calmed me and triggered me. I was sad and happy at the same time.

Howard and I started checking in on each other on game days. One of us would send a, “Have you watched yet?” text, and then we’d either wait until we were both caught up or dive right into our analysis. We’d go through key plays and matchups, things we thought they did well, and mostly he discussed things he thought they could and should improve on. Our sporadic check-ins eventually became a game-day tradition. I knew I’d hear from him and if I didn’t want to wait until after the game, I’d be the one to start up our chat. I started watching the Warriors differently because of this. I knew he was going to recall specific plays or want to go through key moments, so I had to really pay attention. If I couldn’t be in front of a TV to watch the game, I’d have the play-by-play going on my phone so I knew what was happening. I’d be at work, at weddings, at dinners, always watching because I knew Howard would want to discuss. My family even started expecting his commentary on games because it was nine times out of ten going to be negative and that would exhaust me, and they’d get a kick out of it. I’d have to remind him of all the good that the team did (if it was a good game) and try to have him admit that his favorite team wasn’t always the worst. There was always room for improvement with him though and I have to give it to him because he was and will always be right about that. Even on the night they won the championship. He said he was thrilled, but that they needed to start preparing now for next season. The man couldn’t just enjoy the win.

Over time our talks about the Warriors evolved into normal conversations. I’d check in on him and he would call to chat about our days and lives. I loved hearing his updates about whatever trip he and his girlfriend, Rose, were about to go on. He would tell me about his bird, Andre, and update me on his health. He was able to come down to California one year to go to a Dodger game with us as a family on my dad’s birthday and it was such a special day to have him there. He had a blast, and it was great to spend time with him in person. I made it a point to start taking more trips up to Portland. I go often as it is to see my cousin and some friends, but I started including Howard as a mandatory pitstop. Even if we just sat in his living room and talked, it was time with him that made me so happy.

Howard never had kids. I never questioned that or wished he did. I think he liked how his life turned out and I think it showed me an example of someone who didn’t need to have children to feel whole. He knew from a young age that wasn’t his path, we talked about it at length, and I completely understood his reasoning. I still don’t know where I stand on that subject, but it was so nice to know that the love I give to the children who are in my life, even if they aren’t mine, will have an impact. That’s the most important thing. He taught me that.

Howard got sick in November of 2022. He called me and the phone call had come after a week of him being short with me. He was pissing me off and I wasn’t liking his attitude. I think I even called him out on it and quickly thereafter, he wanted to talk. He and Rose talked me through the fact that doctors had found a softball-sized tumor in his chest. It was free-floating but touching his heart and lungs. They didn’t know what this was or what it meant, but it wasn’t good. I cried for days after that phone call. I couldn’t handle the thought of losing this man. I needed him. I hadn’t ever let myself admit that after losing my dad, I had put Howard in that spot to help dull the pain and absence that I was feeling every day. The gaping hole in my life was covered just a bit every time I got to talk to my uncle. I got to have quality time, memories, and moments with the man directly closest to my dad and I cherished that. I think that over time I realized how mutually beneficial our relationship was. I needed a person to fill the emptiness my dad had left, I needed someone I could go to for those types of moments and instructions for life. I hope that with the loss of his brother, Howard was able to use the relationship that we built to supplement the silence he was facing without my dad. They would talk daily about sports and life and unknowingly I stepped into that role for him. I remember once he sent me a long text analyzing a Dodger game. At the end of the text, he mentioned that he used to have my dad to talk to about these things, but now I was his go-to girl. I didn’t think much of it at the time but now it makes my heart happy to know that the relationship we had helped us both cope with the greatest loss we’d come to face.

I started checking in on Howard weekly, if not, daily. I knew when all his appointments were and how many doctors he was talking to. It was overwhelming and I wasn’t even physically there for it all. I cried a lot during this time because there was so much uncertainty. He eventually got diagnosed with an extremely rare form of thymus gland cancer that I cannot give you the scientific name for because it was always too much for me whenever I heard him say it. He was going to start chemo soon and attack this as hard as he possibly could. I debated flying up to be with him for some of the chemo treatments. I went back and forth with my mom trying to talk through the logistics and reality of what that would look like. It may seem like an obvious move to make, but it’s me. I can barely handle walking into a hospital without feeling faint. I can’t look at needles, and the thought of watching someone go through something as debilitating as chemo scared me more than I can express in words. I decided though, that I would go up and be with him. I had to. His treatments were set to start in February, but I wouldn’t be able to go see him until March. I thought this would be better for us both. He would know what to expect, and I wouldn’t have to see the horrors of him adjusting to the treatment from the start. His first day arrived and I waited patiently for the call that he was out and ready for the next one. The call I got instead was Rose telling me that within 15 minutes of being hooked up, Howard had passed out and started coding. They had to take emergency measures to save his life and get him to the hospital, but he was now in bed, tired, but okay. I could hear him mumbling in the background, angry about something. I choked up and asked what the next steps were. They were going to try again. They waited until he was strong enough, made a new chemo cocktail, and hooked him up. I again waited for the all-clear and instead got the coding call. I couldn’t handle that I was so far away and helpless in all of this. He had survived 2 code blues in a month, and we were left more confused than ever about what to do next.

My trip up to visit him came and I was so relieved he was still around. I had picked a weekend that had 3 Warriors’ games and that was all I had on the agenda. I would see some of my friends and family while I was in town, but all I cared about was sitting on Howard’s couch and watching these games. They lost 2 out of 3 but the hours we had alone were some of the most special moments I ever had with my uncle. I just wanted to hear him talk. He told me so many stories about his life, his old friends, and the war, and I even sat with my phone recording him for a few of them. Something told me I would want these moments later. We also discussed his next steps, health-wise. He said that the doctors were foregoing chemo treatments and moving directly into radiation. He would have an aggressive schedule, but that was the best chance at shrinking the tumor that was quickly growing and becoming more painful day after day. Once I left town, his treatments started. I’d check in every couple of days, and he was doing alright. I was able to stop by and see him in June when I was in town for a wedding, and he looked amazing. His spirit was brighter, he was smiling and happy and I was hopeful for good news once his scans came back. We had to wait until August but getting the text that he was cancer-free was one of my favorite days. For the first time in nearly a year, he made me cry happy tears. I was so thrilled the radiation had done its job and he was past this awful, unknown stage of life. He wasn’t completely out of the woods, but it felt as though the heaviest part of us was lifted. I told him to celebrate, and he did by taking a trip with Rose to the beach. They sent me pictures and I told him I would come visit him soon so that we could celebrate together as well.

I never got the chance to have that celebration with him.

My Uncle Howard died on November 29, 2023.

I’m still in a state of shock and complete numbness to the fact that he is gone. We talked and checked in all through summer, I had a phone call with him two weeks before to go over his newest scans and he told me that even though his lungs were weak, he was in the clear. We texted about how awful the Warriors were when they blew a 24-point lead to the Kings at 11 pm on Tuesday, November 28th. He pissed me off, so I eventually put my phone down intending to pick up our conversation the next morning. Which I did. I sent my apology for not responding to him and my breakdown of the plays we had been discussing the night before. I never got a response.

Rose asked me to call her in the middle of the day. I was at work and didn’t think anything of it. I was on speakerphone with her, my aunt Patsy, and my cousin Miranda, and I listened as she walked me through how he woke up not feeling well. He was having some sort of episode and called 911. He was taken to the hospital where she met him. He was in good spirits and cracking jokes. He was here still. Then I remember hearing there was just a lot of chaos. His lungs were giving out, they found traces of pneumonia, there was something wrong with his diaphragm, they were going to give him an IV and intubate him, and then the words, “he didn’t survive”.

I said “Okay”.

I needed more. I didn’t understand what she was telling me. He didn’t survive but he was fine.

He didn’t survive but he’d be right back.

He didn’t survive but yes he did because how dare he die.

How dare he leave me. Leave us.

It was a Wednesday at 3 pm.

We have another Warrior game to watch tomorrow, what do you mean he didn’t survive?

I stood in an empty closet in shock. I was numb. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t feel anything. I think she was talking but I heard nothing. I felt only the same emptiness I felt when I heard my mom scream that we were losing my dad. I felt my soul shrink and my world collapse. I felt as though this man, who I had grown to love so deeply in the last 3 years, who had helped me cope with the sudden loss of my dad, who had become one of the most cherished people in my life, was supposed to live forever. He didn’t have the right to die and here he was, breaking that. Breaking me. I started choking. I started laughing and coughing and crying. I started to get dizzy and needed fresh air. Rose told me she loved me; she told me Howard loved me. He was always going to be with me always, and we’d figure all of this out. I think I said I loved her too. I know I said I loved him. I know this because that was when it sank in. I would never get to tell him I love him again. We ended every phone call and every other text or catch-up by saying those words. I know he knew that I loved him, but now I would never get to tell him again.

I left work, I told them what happened, and they practically forced me out the door. I then had to tell my family. I don’t remember much of this. I was in my car, I was sobbing, and I got it out. I started having a panic attack and hung up the phone. I sat in my car and slammed my hands on my steering wheel. I kicked my legs against my seat, I had a tantrum. I screamed, I gasped for air, and I yelled at him. I cursed at him. I felt so empty, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do next. I went to look at my texts and there he was. He was my most recent text message and he was never going to write back.

It’s been a few days and I still can’t understand this reality.

How did the Warriors play without him here to watch them? They won, thank God, and I sent my text to Howard with my thoughts. I sat in my car in front of my house and cried while watching post-game interviews wishing more than ever, that he would be letting me know that he found something that they did wrong that could be improved in a game that I felt, was pretty perfect.

I haven’t felt like myself since he left. I’ve felt alone and confused and empty. I felt this way after losing my dad, but somehow this is different. It’s not worse, it’s not better. Losing my dad shattered my world but I was able to find some sort of peace with having another person step in and help heal my wounds and my heart. Now my healer is gone, and I am left with the reality that I must now do all the healing on my own.

My uncle was a great man. He lived a simple life. He loved his people and his family. He was kind, gentle, opinionated, and so funny. He went through so much in his life but that never stopped him from wanting to live life fully. He had passions and taught me and so many other people lessons of patience, recovery, faith, and bravery. I loved my uncle. I felt so connected to him and even though we were over 40 years apart in age, he was someone that I loved the most in this life. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now that he’s gone or who I will get to analyze basketball games with anymore, but I know he’s finally at peace and no longer in pain. I hate how he left me. Left us. I don’t understand it, but I guess that’s what he had to do. I wouldn’t have let him go otherwise.

I find joy in knowing that my dad has his big brother with him again. They are together now and together they can complain about their teams, and they can watch their families and protect the ones that they love. I have felt my dad’s presence since the day he left, I’m so honored that I get two guardian angels now. I can’t think of anything better.

alexmmarlow

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