Before I begin let me just say that I'm sorry I took the last couple of days off. My July 4 was really fun hanging out with the Mackrills and the Braggs, shooting fireworks, and becoming a hero to a four year old. July 5 was a vacation day and I just got lazy.
This entry is going to be an emotional one for me. You see, on Monday I also went to my uncle's house. It's an amazing house in North Omaha that he purchased a little under a year ago. It was pretty run down and he's done a lot of really neat work to it. It looks absolutely amazing. It wasn't just the carpentry and paint that left me speechless though.
I guess I should start with a little back story. Every once and a while, when I was in high school, we would go to Omaha (from Atkinson) and visit my uncle Tom. When we'd arrive we'd be greeted by Tom and this precocious little red-headed kid. That kid was my cousin Eddie. He was so full of energy, and by energy I mean "power Vegas for a century" type energy. This may sound horrible, but in my teenage coolness, I found it annoying. I probably forgot what it was like to be six years old, or maybe I was just too cool for school. I don't know. I just remember not wanting to be there, or wanting desperately to not be hanging out with someone either way older or way younger than me. It came down to nothing more than me being immature.
It's when I look back on things like this that I wish I was more like my father. My dad is awesome when it comes to kids. It doesn't even matter who's kids they are. It doesn't matter how annoying, hyper, or crazy they are, he just patiently loves on them. It's one of the major examples that I can think of for seeing how Jesus is lived out through a person. I can still see my dad messing around with Eddie, just goofing around. I'm pretty sure that it seemed like a lot of fun. And yet, I still couldn't get out of my own way to see the amazing person that Eddie was becoming.
For a lot of years I lost track of family. And it was for no other reason than pride. Pride that I didn't need another human being, even though mom and dad were paying all my bills. Pride that I was "normal," even when though my dysfunction induced panic attacks. Pride that I could be a better person than my parents, even though they raised me to respect and love others. If I did these types of things with my immediate family, you can bet that my extended family wasn't even on the radar. So for years I didn't really think twice about Eddie, my uncle, or anyone beyond me. And until last summer I didn't even realize how much that's affected me, or how much I've lost.
Last summer, on July 5, just days after returning to Afghanistan from leave, my cousin Eddie was killed. He was a little over a month shy of his 19th birthday. That certainly is tragic, but I found myself really broke up about it. "Why?," I kept asking myself. "Why are you so sad?" I didn't even really remember Eddie as more than a hyper six year old. It wasn't until after his funeral that I finally realized why.
Eddie impacted so many people. I only found this out by listening to stories told at his funeral. He was always the person who would listen to people's problems. He was always the one who desired to help those who needed help. He constantly put others ahead of himself. It's why he joined a scouting unit when he joined the military. He wanted to make sure that others were safe at the cost of his own safety and comfort. He helped kids as a counselor at Camp Pokamoke. He was loved, and treasured, by all who knew him well. He was a good man.
As I stood in a parlor at my uncle's house, I realized why I mourned his loss. It wasn't because I knew him well. It was because I didn't know him well, and I wish that I had. I jumped to conclusions about him even with the little that knew about him. I wrote him off, and honestly, even though he was eleven years my junior I could have learned a lot from him. Edwin Wood will always be a hero. Not because of a battle, or even the way he died. But because of the life he lived. Eddie lived a life worthy to be called a Christ follower, which I've heard, he was. I look forward to one day telling him I'm sorry, and to shaking his hand for being the type of person I wish I could always be.
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