Happy Birthday, Uncle Casey

As life continues on around us all, there are times that we must stop and think about those that aren't with us any longer. And in my chaotic life, there is one person that I miss more than any of the others, my dear Uncle Casey.

Casey is my mom's older brother, and someone who was much more than an uncle to me. He was my friend. I could sit for hours and talk to that man. Sometimes I didn't even know what the hell we were talking about. And many times, I can't even say that it made much sense. To an outsider, we would have sounded completely crazy. But I'll tell you something: I believe that a lot of my creativity came from him. The weird things we would say, that we could hold up a conversation with for long periods of time, really got my creative mind working overtime.

When I was a kid, there was something sort of mysterious, and a little intimidating about Uncle Casey. He wasn't my scariest uncle, as that title had always gone to Uncle Walt, but he was definitely up there. But as the years marched on, and I grew older, I started to learn what a great man he truly was. What a great source of inspiration that he could one day become to me.

My uncle was a juvenile diabetic. He learned this at a very young age, and had to live his life around this horrible disease. A disease that, in the end, took both of his legs. But he always kept a smile on. And he was always a wonderful listener. Even if many times it was about nothing at all.

We had this joke amongst us that when he died, he wanted his prosthetic legs turned into bedside lamps. True to his word, when he passed away, his legs were shipped to my little brother, and turned into bedside lamps. Now, this may sound extremely weird, and strange to all of you not in the family. And trust me, we know it is. But that's who we were. We were always there to make the other one smile. And even in death, my dear Uncle Casey wanted us to laugh. He wanted us to smile.

Today would have been his 59th Birthday. And as I go through my own struggles with losing my right foot, something tells me that he is somewhere out there, encouraging me to keep fighting. He's out there watching over me as I prepare for the birth of my fourth child. And somewhere, deep in my heart, I know that he is proud of me. And though I could desperately use his advice, and maybe just someone to talk to, I know he is finally getting the peace, and reprieve from pain that has always so badly deserved.

I love you so much, Uncle Casey. And I promise you that we will meet again someday. Until then, I hope it's Heaven where you are. And I'll be thinking about you. Until the day that I die.

Rob