Part II: Uncle Kevin

"I'll be coming home soon, long as I can see the light" - Creedence Clearwater Revival

Today’s post was written while listening to the Spotify playlist I made for my Uncle Kevin’s celebration of life (which I hope you enjoy).

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The Pit

It was Saturday, November 25th, 2023. I woke up and immediately checked my phone (don’t we all?) to rid myself of any troublesome badge notifications (the bane of my existence). I noticed I had numerous missed calls from my Dad.

“That’s never good”, I thought. I listened to the voicemail he left the night before, asking me to call him right away. His voice was strained and I knew something was wrong.

Typically, the day after Thanksgiving (which was on the 23rd) is the day I go hard for Christmas. It’s the day we get our tree, the day we start decorating, and the day we absolutely do NOT go shopping. I had numerous other “to do” items that day, very menial in nature - do my laundry, renew my speech-language pathology license, vacuum before we get the tree, etc.

I actually cannot tell you what I did that evening, Friday November 24th. But I was fast asleep when all those calls came through.

I looked over at Pat and he was soundly asleep next to me. It was early - like 6 or 7 a.m. early. I called my dad.

“Uncle Kevin passed yesterday, Kelsey.”

His voice, still strained - hurried. My heart shattering. How could he have died? My precious, larger than life Uncle Kevin. The Uncle who taught me to love music and bonfires and good company? The Uncle who would drop anything if I needed something or had an idea. The Uncle who was a master craftsman and made some of the most absolutely stunning furniture you’d ever see or touch. The Uncle who played guitar so well (here’s his band from when he was a teenager, Van-Go, which is… unique - you’ve been warned) and enjoyed writing the most intense and chaotic stories. An artist. The Uncle with the biggest belly laugh.

We had just texted on Thanksgiving late morning. I told him I loved him so much and I missed him. He replied with his “Mmmm. I love you too Kelsey.” How could someone so alive be no longer alive?

As my voice got louder and cracked while I tried to hold back intense tears and - rage? - Pat was waking up and increasingly aware something was very wrong.

To spare you all the details… his death was sudden. It was unexpected. And all of it is still so tragic and heartbreaking to this day.

Uncle Kevin’s obituary is a testament to a life well-lived, but can’t even begin to scratch the surface of who he was and how loved by so many.

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Connection through Processing

Sometimes death can’t be processed through a somewhat rapid succession of largely religious-based customs. Sometimes you have to do it differently. I’m so grateful to have such a close relationship with my Aunt Em, who graciously included me in every facet of this experience - from the ongoing mourning, to the laughter of memories, and through the preparation of celebration and legacy building which continues to this day.

Over the course of 6 months after my Uncle passed, Pat and I visited New Hampshire numerous times - where he lived so long and so well with my Aunt - to reminisce, to cry, to look at pictures, and to sort out some of the inevitable that comes with death (what is the password to this or that, where do we have to file such and such paperwork, etc.).

The picture task was my favorite - not only because I got to see my Uncle in those freeze frames throughout the years, but because we collaborated on the perfect way to represent them in a video at his celebration of life in mid-May. This process was so healing.

That process of grieving, talking, visiting, laughing, and being in his space through it all was devastating and comforting (both/and). The hardest part about visiting was not being greeted by him on his porch, that big belly laugh and bear hug with his soft “mmm it’s good to see you sweetie”. I can still hear it so clearly to this day (I am so grateful for that).

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Legacy Building

My Aunt Em is skilled at memories. She has so many and it feels like she can pull the exact right one out at the moment you need it. She also has a knack for building shrines of sorts:

This shrine was such a perfect way to honor him and his legacy - with many of his favorite things - including the last crossword puzzle he was in the middle of working on, the intricate financial records (lol) of his childhood band’s earnings for shows in the 1960s and 70s, and - my favorite - the sandpaper scraps he would carry around in his pockets. Just in case. Many other special items adorn this space and it was the star of the show during his Celebration of Life at their home in New Hampshire on May 18th, 2024, almost exactly 6 months after the day of his untimely death.

One extra special item in this shrine is a dark gray book toward the front left. The Christmas prior to his death I purchased a “Storyworth” subscription for my Uncle. He had so many funny, sad, scary, ridiculous, etc. stories in his arsenal from life. He had just as many of the same kind that he made up, too. I hoped this subscription would help him to document so many things in just the way he was. He started doing this, steadfastly, but decided shortly after that he wasn’t sure he’d continue. It can be difficult to dredge up the past.

Despite telling me and my Aunt he wouldn’t finish it, to our surprise, he did. When the subscription ended, he had answered many, many questions - some with fake stories, some with very real stories, some life lessons, some absolute sarcasm and sass (especially when he thought the question was kind of bullshit - he hated those “what was your favorite game as a kid?” impersonal type questions). When I realized he’d completed the subscription, I had several copies of the book made. I kept them at my house in case he ever asked. He never did.

When he passed, and the cloudy haze surrounding my existence lifted ever so slightly, I remembered. The books! They were safely tucked away in my office closet. Numerous people in our family now have copies. I’ll never know what pushed me to get a Storyworth subscription for him that year, but it was one of the best decisions I’d ever made to this day.

A smaller, but just as impactful, shrine still exists at my Aunt’s house today. It gets decorated for each season. My favorite was their celebration of Dia de Los Meurtos (Day of the Dead). I wish I had a photo, but this will do - just imagine it with that vibe.

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Celebrating a Life Well Lived

Uncle Kevin was a force. He went out as unexpectedly as he arrived, leaving a wave we’ll all be riding in his wake.

His celebration of life needed to be a reflection of who he was, what he loved, and how he lived. That was most important - to me, to my Aunt, to his friends, to his legacy.

In honor of the many, many amazing parties and bonfires he’d thrown in his lifetime (many of which my friends and I had the luxury of attending in my late teen years into and beyond my 20s), we did just that. We invited every friend we could think of, bought a shit ton of fireworks (yes, we also put some of his ashes in the fireworks, too so he could burn out and not fade away), prepared the potato guns, and called it a potluck.

It slightly rained that day - never enough to make it uncomfortable - and just the right amount to make us remember we were alive and being alive wasn’t always comfortable. But it definitely made our fireworks shenanigans safer. So, there’s that.

We set up tents, got the grill ready, and started blasting his playlist on the internal and external speakers. I felt like I could breathe and I felt like he was there. And it makes me both teary and smiley to remember.

Between the bonfire, the fireworks, the shooting of his ashes out of the potato guns toward the beaver pond way out back, there was laughter, tears, and a lot of memories. My favorite, though, was watching my niece (who he only met when she was a baby) diligently and with care loading up the potato gun with his ashes to send him out into the fields and the pond. She thought it was hysterical - and honestly? He would have thought so too. He would have fucking loved it.

And even some pinball. Because he really loved pinball.

Since his celebration of life - and even before - I was lucky enough to get some chances to scatter his ashes with Pat, my brother, my Aunt’s sister, and my Aunt at various places he loved. That was so soothing to have him suspended in air so peacefully.

And, ultimately, I think that’s the best way to describe it now. So much of this time processing, remembering, crying, screaming, cursing the universe, laughing, celebrating, and loving has given me peace.

It doesn’t mean I don’t miss him so fucking much. But it’s both/and. Like most of life, I suppose.

I tell you all of this because it’s so deeply connected to my Death Doula journey, as well as how I got started making ceramic urns and how I hope to bring both practices together for those I support on the journey through - and to - death.

» Part III: On Urn Making as a Form of Healing (coming soon)

Memento Mori,

Kelsey