Standing on the shoulders of giants

Sometimes things just fall right into your lap. Such was the case for my father, listening to REM's King of Birds on his way home from a day trip to PA, while we were waiting for him with some awful, awful news: Uncle Fred was gone. Well, at that point, he was on life support while the family waited for one of his sons to make it up from VA, but he passed away quietly on the evening of December 22, almost exactly 24 hours after my great aunt noticed something was amiss.

I was absolutely kicking myself, because I'd passed through my cousin's town in VA during my travels in the previous days, and was mad at myself for not planning better and visiting with them on my way. I consoled myself during the long drive home that I was sure I'd see them soon at some family event. That felt terrible upon arriving home and receiving the news from my mom.

My father spoke at Fred's funeral, using the line "standing on the shoulders of giants" from that REM song to illustrate how lesser men and women stand on the shoulders of giants to get by. Uncle Fred was one such giant for our family-- a kind and loving man, devoted to his family, serving others, and full of great stories and jokes to keep his four younger siblings (my grandmother and uncles) and the rest of us on our toes.

I'm feeling extremely blessed to have known him in my adult life, to be able to appreciate those stories and zingers. In the height of my family picture scanning blitz, he sat down with me one quiet afternoon to go through them and help fill in some dates and names, including information about my grandfather, who none of us ever knew. It was a difficult conversation, but he was kind, helpful and tactful, as he ever was. I'm so glad we had all of the family gatherings in the last few years, where I could appreciate him as the eldest of the complete set of George and Edith Spain's children.


My entire life, Uncle Fred has been our patriarch. I realize that our time on earth is finite, but I still generally prefer to operate under the assumption that no one is leaving any time soon. This was sudden. I've lost people before, people who were dear to me and an important part of my upbringing, but this is the first time that it's happened so unexpectedly. I am now more acutely aware of my own mortality.

It just felt so conclusive, singing A Mighty Fortress at the end of the service and hearing someone ring the bell. It kind of rang right through my heart as I followed my father out of the funeral so he could help my cousins carry Uncle Fred out of the church.

Rather than dwelling on that in a negative way, I'm trying to take what fell into my father's lap, this idea of standing on the shoulders of giants, and move forward. I'm not the New Years resolution type, but especially as I'm in this time in my life where nothing is certain, and I'm trying so hard to move forward, to find my vocation and to just do something, I find myself thinking about standing on the shoulders of the giants of my life-- Uncle Fred, and so many others. I'm holding close the many stories of his servant's heart, his faith, his strength, his love and his compassion, and remembering these things that were encouraged by the village of Spains and Kecks and Earps and so many others that raised me (and continue to raise me).


As we begin a new year, and as I continue my search for what's next in my life, I'm going to keep in mind that I never walk alone, and that I've been given great gifts by many giants. I'm going to listen a little more closely for my calling, and I'm going to bring all of the compassion, strength, caring and love that I can to the table.

Uncle Fred, and all of the others, are still with us in this way. We'll miss you, Uncle Fred.

Happy 2013. May it be the best yet for all of us, honoring the giants who came before.