​Last weekend I attended a memorial service for a man I did not know.  By all rights bestowed upon me at birth, I should have grown up knowing this man.  He was, after all, my uncle.  I grew up not knowing him because with life being so unpredictable, my four siblings and I were separated when I was still a toddler.  The five of us grew up, adopted out to different families, not knowing each other.  The older siblings have a few recollections of our biological family, but I have none.  Several years ago I got to meet this man, my Uncle Gerald.  Upon our introduction, I remember seeing him wipe the tears from his eyes.  We talked for just a few short minutes and he told me I was welcome to come visit him and my aunt anytime.  I told him I would do that.  Time got away, and a few years later, I read in the local paper that his wife, my aunt, had passed away.  I had not gone to visit them.  I knew where this man lived, and I cannot begin to count the number of times I drove by his street and thought to myself, “I need to go visit Uncle Gerald.  I need to get to know him.  I will do that soon.”  A little over a month ago I was told that he was having some health issues.  Again I thought, “I need to go see him.”  The first week of July, I learned that Uncle Gerald had passed away.  I had not gone to see him.  I had not gotten to know him.  Out of respect for this man, I attended the memorial service with one of my sisters.  As we took our place among the small gathering of people, it came to my mind, “Some of these people are my very own flesh and blood…and we do not even know each other.”  A man and wife, who were good friends with Uncle Gerald, stood and spoke about him to those of us who had gathered to pay our respects.  They spoke about how he loved to watch the Tigers baseball games, about how he loved his dog, and about how he loved his family.  Then they talked about how little family this man had, and how he would get lonely at times.  A few other people took turns speaking, and I noticed a common theme in each of their sharing.  Uncle Gerald was a good, loving, family-oriented man.   The military honors were then executed, beautifully and pretty near perfect, giving me goosebumps with the twenty-one gun salute and bringing tears to my eyes with the playing of the taps.  As I stood there reflecting, a lot of “why didn’t you’s” kept going through my mind, like, “Why didn’t you get to know him?  Why didn’t you try to make a difference in his life?  Why didn’t you save him from some lonely moments in time?  Why didn’t you reach out to his grandchildren and offer to help care for him?”  The only answer I could dredge up was, “I just did not take the time.”  I know I could have taken the time.  I just did not make it priority.  Before and after the service, I had the opportunity to meet a handful of my biological cousins and second cousins.  I do hope that in the near future I have a chance to be better acquainted with some of them.  I know that if given the opportunity, I will not put it off until it is once again too late, and I have to learn second-hand about what a good person they were.  In closing, I urge each of you reading this, if there is someone in your life that you think could use some help, some of your time, or just a few words on the phone, please do not put it off.  Put forth the effort to make it happen.  Don’t let life get in the way.  Don’t let your busy schedule rule your life.  Don’t pencil someone into your thoughts…put it in ink by making it happen.  You just never know when you might make a difference in someone’s life, or even in your own, if you just take the time to put priorities in the right order.  Rest in peace, Uncle Gerald.  I may not have known you, but I will never forget you. 

                                                                                        ~Ruth McDonald Mair~
                                                                                                 7/27/17

In the last year, I’ve known several families that have suffered the loss of a child--the most recent occurring just this week.  Whether that child was an infant, toddler, teen or adult is irrelevant…a child is a child.  I don’t know why these things happen or why hearts are broken and lives shattered.  I don’t know why parents and siblings are left to pick up their broken lives, which will forever be jagged because one final piece will never be recovered.   I do, however, know that the Bible tells us in Revelation 21:4, “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”  So to all the families who have been traveling on the dark and uncertain road to recovery for a while, and to all those who are just starting down that difficult path, my heart, thoughts and prayers go out to each and every one of you.  My family is also on this road.  While on this journey, I have discovered two lights.  One is illuminating the way for us from those who have gone before.  The other is the light we extend to those that follow.  Together, we will all make it out of the dark.

                                                                                                                                     ~Ruth McDonald Mair~                                                                                                                                                              5-23-17
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​Ten years.
One hundred twenty months.
Five hundred twenty weeks.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days.
 
That is how much time has passed since we last saw your smiling face, heard your voice and laughter, felt the warmth of your hugs or endured any of your corny jokes.
 
A lot has changed in ten years.  Our country has seen two new presidents.  The Chicago Cubs won the 2016 World Series after a 108-year drought!  (The Detroit Lions still have not had any great seasons.)  In most homes, landlines are pretty much a distant memory since most everyone owns a cell phone now.  We can use our cell phones for texting, emailing, social-media and even do our banking on them!  Where people used to wear a watch on their left wrist, we can now choose to wear something called a “Fitbit”—it helps us monitor our heartrate, workouts, calorie intake/burn.  Doctors are now diagnosing on-line those patients with minor problem.  The patients with major issues still have the struggle of sitting in the actual waiting room for who knows how long.  Health insurance has not changed.  In fact, it may be worse.  Either way, it still involves a bunch of red tape and jumping through hoops.
 
Our family has grown.  You have a brother-in-law and some sisters-in-law.  You even have nieces and nephews now!  Your oldest nephew carries your name, and at times, looks quite a bit like you.  Some family members have passed away, but you already know about them since they are with you now.  We have lost pets and we have added new ones.  I am sure all of us have different vehicles now, too.  Your dad still has the Jeep, though, and still only brings it out for “special occasions.”  (Like when he wants to play in the yard or drive out to the woods and try to get it stuck in the field—just to prove he can wench it out!)
 
So much has changed over the last ten years, David.  Then again, some things have remained the same.  We miss you just as much today as we did when you first left us.  You are still on our minds daily.  We still carry the hurt and disbelief of losing you.  There is a hole in our hearts that we know will never mend…we would not expect it to be.  We still take each day as it comes, putting one foot in front the other to move forward because we know that’s what you would want us to do.  The biggest thing that has not changed is the love we have in our hearts for you.  Whether it was as a son, a grandson, a brother, a nephew, a cousin or a friend, we were all so very blessed to have you in our lives.  In addition, we are still very blessed to have all the wonderful memories you left with us.
 
Ten years
One hundred twenty months.
Five hundred twenty weeks.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days.
 
This amount of time may have given and taken many things, but no amount of time will ever surpass the pain of losing you, the joy of having known you and the honor of having you in our hearts each day.
 
We love you David Mair!