The world lost an incredible man. I've known for years just how incredible this man was. He had been around my entire memorable life. I was in his wedding as a toddler, when he joined as one with my dear aunt.
I've known.
Or at least, I thought I knew.
But it turns out, it takes someone being gone forever to realize that what you know isn't all there is to know. What you know is only the surface, and the depths of what you don't know reach further than you'll ever begin to uncover.
It's overwhelming, really.
As family and friends gathered today to bid our earthly farewell to this incredible man, I realized just how small our words are when it comes to the life of an individual.
Obituaries and eulogies are beautiful, significant, and often poetic, but they too just scratch the surface.
On my return home, I began to dwell on this fact. It seemed to me, in a way, that obituaries trivialize and marginalize a person's entire existence into a few key facts that are out there for others, so they can get the highlights, if you will, of someone who many held dearly.
They're important.
They're inadequate.
Listening to people talk about my uncle, Gregg Edward DeSmith, born June 12, 1964, to his parents, Dorothy and Edward, who passed away on Saturday, September 9, 2017, it became all to clear to me that the man I knew and loved for my entire life was even more incredible than my small mind could comprehend. Gregg, the devoted husband of Linda, and beloved father to Sasha (and Kyle), Carissa, who left this earth at age 2, and Hannah (and Dylan), wonderful grandfather to Kalesia, Elijah, and Miles, dear brother to many, uncle to even more, and friend to countless others, was a man of Jesus. It was evident today, as I heard about his life and saw numerous people whose lives he touched.
It overwhelmed me, as I longed to be able to tell him that I admired that in him.
He and I spoke occasionally on aspects of God. I never really pressed in, knowing he believed in God and was raised in a Catholic church, the one in which he was baptized, married, and said goodbye to today in the Mass of Christian Burial. He knew more about my faith journey than I did his, and today, I felt selfish for not knowing more about what he believed to be true.
But, at the same time, I could see in the way he lived.
Gregg had a servant's heart. He spent countless hours with those in need, in both small and large ways. He devoted time, energy, love, and so much more to those around him. He did so with a willing heart. He did so, expecting nothing in return, and often wouldn't accept anything in return. It wasn't all that long ago that he saved me in a small way, where my van window wouldn't go all the way up, and it was about to rain for my two hour drive home. He was on it in a flash and had a temporary solution that still enabled me to see, and I made it home safe and dry, so relieved and thankful for the small gift he was delighted to give me.
He went out of his way to take you aside and tell you that he was proud of you. No matter what you had done, no matter where you had come from, no matter where you were going, or what you had been through, he saw you as you were, a human, full of giving and receiving love, and he let it be known that you were worthy. He built you up in spirit and mind. I cannot personally recall an instance I heard him tear someone down.
He loved and served the least of these, just like Jesus did.
His love for his family was unconditional and overwhelming. He stood faithfully at my aunt's side for 32 glorious years that were no stranger to stress and sorrow, trials and tribulations, but also great joy and blessing. They were one. You could see it and you could feel it when you were with them.
Gregg loved spending time with people. He had a jolly laugh and a great wit. He wore a smile often. He loved to tell a joke and hear the laughter of others as well. Some of my best memories of him were at his farm, where my large family would gather for days on end. He would go all out to ensure each gathering was phenomenal. He had such great humble pride in welcoming us all and allowing us to create everlasting, joyful memories.
He was a delightful mix of manly man and teddy bear, who loved fixing things, classic cars (both real and miniature), go carts and his Harley. He collected countless unique and older things and loved to share them with people around him. He loved the outdoors and having a great time with family and friends.
He was adored by so many. Children and adults alike could call him a friend. My oldest son, who is not quite seven, sobbed this weekend, as he realized just how great a buddy Gregg was to him, and how devastating it was to know that they would not be making memories together anymore. He told me about how Gregg helped him to be brave, and how cool it was when he finally rode go cart for the first time, and how Gregg told him he was a little man now. Gregg knew when to encourage my kids and when to be silly, and each of the three of them loved him deeply for that reason.
He was a great buddy to most everyone he met, I feel. I heard so many claim that over the past two days.
He is going to be missed daily, wholly, intensely, by countless people who knew and loved him, who he loved in return. Knowing that his all-encompassing bear hugs will never be given again leaves my shoulders feeling vulnerable and cold. I know I'll receive hugs for the rest of my life, but not one will be quite like his.
Gregg loved the phrase "No Regrets." I smiled as I heard that, because long ago, I had coined that phrase for myself. I didn't live it like he did though, as I sit here tonight, regretting that I hadn't told him one more time that I loved him, thanked him for all he did for us, and for the endless encouragement and support he never ceased to provide for me and my children. I regret not taking more photos of him with the people he loved and not having photographic proof of the hardest working hands I remember seeing. Even with life gone from his body, when you saw him this week, you saw the proof that he worked endlessly to provide for his family and his friends, the stain left behind on his fingerprints as a reminder of how much he gave of himself.
I know with all of my heart that he is with our Jesus now, and my children have reminded me multiple times, through tear-riddled eyes, that his soul is in heaven. I stand firm in my faith and thankful for everlasting life and salvation through Christ, but at the same time, my human heart and limited mind is having a most difficult time envisioning our lives without him. I see the farm, and it feels emptier knowing he will never be pulling down the driveway in one of his vehicles, never racing around on a go-kart or hauling with a tractor. He won't be building or bringing new and exciting fun to us all, or helping the children feed the birds. His spirit will never leave, but his body and his voice will never be with us as we sit in the summer sun. That realization takes the wind out of my lungs for a moment and burns my eyes with tears. I know I'm not alone in this space, missing him so much already, being devastated for us left behind, and overjoyed for he who will never again know sadness.
His body is gone, but his light can shine on. I hope that his loss will encourage others to live a life like his, showing Jesus inside us to others.
I sit here, exhausted and weary, writing away, knowing that although my words are more in number than an obituary or even some eulogies, they do not suffice. They will also never begin to scratch the surface of the life that Gregg lived.
That had been one of my dreams as well. I guess it still is, I just haven't focused on it at all since Spencer's arrival. I have always wanted a book of my work published.