Uncle Ubald

No, that's not a mis-type in the title. My uncle's name was Ubald. He was my father's last remaining brother and he died yesterday. His name was not unusual in a family of one girl and six boys whose names included Romaire, Lucien, and Medard. Those of you not of French-Canadian descent will chuckle or try to figure out how to pronounce these names. The rest of you will smile with a mixture of recognition and amusement.

His passing is significant because he was the last living member of my Dad's immediate family. The dubious honor of last surviving member of that generation now belongs to my mother. She is 83, drives to church every day, and is a serious challenge to outliving me and many others in my generation.

As I said, he was the last living uncle on my father's side of the family. I believe he was 96; I'll find out for certain when I see the newspaper tomorrow. He was the third-oldest of 7 children; my dad was the youngest. The matriarch of the clan and oldest of the family, my Aunt Sister Gladys, died just over a year ago, 5 months shy of her 100th birthday. Dad always told us that Uncle Ubald would outlive everyone else in the family because he lived such a clean life. While Dad and his brothers spent a good share of their youth doing the things that we all do and then swear to our kids that we didn't, Uncle Ubald apparently just wasn't interested. He was a farmer by trade and worked many years for a gentleman farmer, raising and showing prize-winning cattle. In his hometown of Bridgewater, there is a fairgrounds with several permanent buildings; one of them, many years ago, was given the name Ubald's Cow Palace. The sign remains to this day.

The last time I saw Uncle Ubald, at his 95th birthday party, he stood poker-straight and greeted me with a firm handshake, as he had done for all the years that I knew him. I joked with him that I really hoped I had inherited his genes and not those of my father, who had a heart attack at 52 (and lived to 78) or my Uncle Lawrence who died in his driveway at 66. I will miss Uncle Ubald. He was a quiet, serene gentleman who lived a simple, fulfilling life.

Most of all, his passing is yet another reminder that time marches on. If you believe that this world is all we have, our days of living for the now are waning. If you believe this is just a dress-rehearsal for whatever kind of life comes next, we've got limited time to get our lines and wardrobe in order.

One of my favorite Rolling Stones songs is Time Waits for No One. The last verse says:

Men, they build towers to their passing, yes
to their fame everlasting;
Here He comes choppin' and reapin',
hear Him laugh at their cheating.

And time waits for no man, and it won't wait for me;
time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me.

That'll make you sit up and pay attention.