Shelby

One of the last pictures taken of Uncle Shelby -- by his daughter, Secily

There is never an easy time to experience a death in the family, but when it comes suddenly and unexpectedly...it is doubly hard, I think.  Last week we had one of these sudden losses in my family.  My mother's eldest brother, Shelby, passed away peacefully in his bed.  He was 74 and seemingly in good health.  We are all still reeling from the loss of this wonderful man.

There was no place more relaxing than Uncle Shelby's front porch -- or "poach" as he said it

My Uncle Shelby was a character.  He was so similar to my fabulous grandmother who died 3 years ago that, in some ways, his death seems like losing her all over again.  Both Shelby and my grandmother were unwittingly funny, opinionated, graceful, and unique.  Both were one of a kind and unforgettable.  Shelby himself was a man of many talents.  He had a passion for decorating and gardening.  He had many, many friends and was always up to something fun.  That said, he loved his downtime too and loved nothing more than a glass of bourbon and a good Lifetime movie on TV.  He often turned in by 8:30 pm -- but you can bet that when he was awake, he was the life of the party.

It is not possible to adequately describe my Uncle Shelby in words if you did not have the fortune of knowing him.  But I tried to do my best in this poem which I read at his wake last week.  His wake, by the way, was absolutely perfect.  Elegant, intimate, and completely Southern.  It was held at the beautiful antebellum home which belongs to some of his best friends, Wendell and Steve.  We shed some tears, to be sure, but we also celebrated his life.  With a glass of bourbon in hand, of course.  It was such a celebration, in fact, that Fionn thought it was a "birthday party."  After all, there was cake, friends, and singing.  I think Uncle Shelby would have been pleased.

 

Shelby

His voice was like warm honey
Sweet and wholly southern
It poured out over his words
Like water from one of his antique decanters
Slow and smooth

A true southern gentleman
He had a fierce appreciation
For tradition
History
Family
His walls told stories
Of days past
And so did he
Weaving tale after tale
In the gloaming light of dusk
His hand gracefully cupping his bourbon
His raspy, infectious laugh rising into the still night
Comingling with the cricket’s song

As a child
I believed
His house to be a wonderland
Complete with trickling fountains
Rubbery lily pads
And shimmering fish
Wooden floors that creaked their welcome
As I tiptoed across them
I pored over the framed pictures that seemed to line
Every inch of his walls
Some black and white
Others vivid and colorful
All somehow connected to him
Loved by him

He was a friend
A partner
A father
A son
He loved quietly
But fiercely
And with unusual loyalty

He was a creature of habit
Signature newsboy cap
Glass of Old Charter
Parade of Lifetime movies
His unwavering policy of early to bed
Early to rise

And yet
Just like those pictures
That lined his walls
He was also vivid
Colorful
Exciting
Alive

We carry him with us now
Each of us holding him close
With a story
A memory
A shared experience that was
Undoubtedly filled with laughter
He will be with us in these memories
Tethered to us in these reflections
He is not here
And yet he is
If you pay close enough attention
And you can bet he is smiling

Casey Crosthwait Crimmins

September 2013