This past weekend, I was in Tallahassee with my family celebrating the induction of my uncle, Gary Pajcic, into the Florida State University Athletics Hall of Fame. Almost everyone from my mom’s side of the family came together, from near or nearer or even far, to celebrate. We bought new dresses for the banquet. My mom, my sister and I all wore outfits of black and tan animal print in an accidental stand of unity. Uncles and aunts in their seventies came, as well as little toddlers and even one baby still in the belly. We reserved clusters of hotel rooms and tickets to the game and got my huge family of a thousand and one together in one place.
Everyone of importance, besides my grandma who is too old to travel now, came out for the event. Everyone, that is, but my uncle. Last year, in a tragic moment that changed the rest of our lives forever, my uncle was diagnosed with encephalitis and died within four days. A figurehead of my family, of Jacksonville, and of the state of Florida, his death reached so many that it left everyone who knew him with a hole inside of them that can never be filled.
It was a little over a year ago that my whole family was last gathered, to attend his funeral. Newspapers all over the state remarked upon his death, all the news channels covered it for the week surrounding his passing, and over a thousand people attended the funeral. But, despite knowing his great contributions to his community, I will always remember him as the man who called himself my “second daddy,” who always had a bag of change saved up for my little sister every time we saw him, who gave more hugs than anyone else I know, who cherished family and made certain everyone else in our expanding family did as well. He held us together.
I was excited for this weekend. I was excited to be able to celebrate his life with the people who knew him best, to cherish what he was as a man, and to do it in his favorite kind of way, with his family, his good friends, football and some good food.
The weekend started with the induction banquet. My aunt, my late uncle’s wife who has been given the enormous task of carrying on his name and his convictions, gracefully introduced him to the room and remembered him for all the amazing things he was. She even told one of his favorite stories, because telling stories was one of the things my uncle did best. I cried, as did many others, watching her stand before us, so strong and still so full of his presence. Sometimes it feels as if he hasn’t really left us, and I hope that’s because we are able to keep him alive in our hearts.
The next day was the game. This was the part he really would have enjoyed. We all walked from the hotel to the stadium and started the celebration in his special parking space, the same one we tailgated in all through my college years, and my sisters before me, as long as I can remember. Everyone was there, just as it had been in years past. I kept expecting to turn my head and see him standing with his best friend, Ron Sellers, or chowing into some of his famous homemade boiled peanuts. Florida State won the game, the family was together, and it was a beautiful warm summer night. If he could have seen us, he would have been so proud.
I moved away to California two weeks after my uncle passed. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. My family is my foundation, and that is something that I cherish and respect about myself. It felt like a black cloud hung over all of our heads this past year as we tried to find our way through. I know I am back where I belong. If there is one thing I learned from him, it’s to be proud of who you are and where you’re from. Hold up your community and your community will hold you. My uncle knew that, and used the word “community” loosely to define anything and everything in his life that meant something to him.
This weekend, my pride in my family, in my team (go Noles!), and in my home could not have been stronger. I spent five years trying to find the place that could fill my heart, not knowing that it was right where I had left it. It had been here waiting for me all along. And although I regret not having spent more time with him in his final days, I can still feel him with us. He has taught me so much, and the lessons keep on coming. I miss his hugs, I miss his stories, I miss the man, but his spirit is still here. It’s inside us all.
Everyone of importance, besides my grandma who is too old to travel now, came out for the event. Everyone, that is, but my uncle. Last year, in a tragic moment that changed the rest of our lives forever, my uncle was diagnosed with encephalitis and died within four days. A figurehead of my family, of Jacksonville, and of the state of Florida, his death reached so many that it left everyone who knew him with a hole inside of them that can never be filled.
It was a little over a year ago that my whole family was last gathered, to attend his funeral. Newspapers all over the state remarked upon his death, all the news channels covered it for the week surrounding his passing, and over a thousand people attended the funeral. But, despite knowing his great contributions to his community, I will always remember him as the man who called himself my “second daddy,” who always had a bag of change saved up for my little sister every time we saw him, who gave more hugs than anyone else I know, who cherished family and made certain everyone else in our expanding family did as well. He held us together.
I was excited for this weekend. I was excited to be able to celebrate his life with the people who knew him best, to cherish what he was as a man, and to do it in his favorite kind of way, with his family, his good friends, football and some good food.
The weekend started with the induction banquet. My aunt, my late uncle’s wife who has been given the enormous task of carrying on his name and his convictions, gracefully introduced him to the room and remembered him for all the amazing things he was. She even told one of his favorite stories, because telling stories was one of the things my uncle did best. I cried, as did many others, watching her stand before us, so strong and still so full of his presence. Sometimes it feels as if he hasn’t really left us, and I hope that’s because we are able to keep him alive in our hearts.
The next day was the game. This was the part he really would have enjoyed. We all walked from the hotel to the stadium and started the celebration in his special parking space, the same one we tailgated in all through my college years, and my sisters before me, as long as I can remember. Everyone was there, just as it had been in years past. I kept expecting to turn my head and see him standing with his best friend, Ron Sellers, or chowing into some of his famous homemade boiled peanuts. Florida State won the game, the family was together, and it was a beautiful warm summer night. If he could have seen us, he would have been so proud.
I moved away to California two weeks after my uncle passed. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. My family is my foundation, and that is something that I cherish and respect about myself. It felt like a black cloud hung over all of our heads this past year as we tried to find our way through. I know I am back where I belong. If there is one thing I learned from him, it’s to be proud of who you are and where you’re from. Hold up your community and your community will hold you. My uncle knew that, and used the word “community” loosely to define anything and everything in his life that meant something to him.
This weekend, my pride in my family, in my team (go Noles!), and in my home could not have been stronger. I spent five years trying to find the place that could fill my heart, not knowing that it was right where I had left it. It had been here waiting for me all along. And although I regret not having spent more time with him in his final days, I can still feel him with us. He has taught me so much, and the lessons keep on coming. I miss his hugs, I miss his stories, I miss the man, but his spirit is still here. It’s inside us all.
No comments:
Post a Comment