We were not surprised to learn that my wife’s uncle died. Buried under years of excessive drinking, he carried complex grief over the death of his wife. To protect his grief, he lashed out at anyone who tried to get close. His words were like weapons. To assuage his pain, he pushed others away. He pushed me away. He pushed everyone away. Those who tried to draw near were targets for his ire.
His life story resonates with the younger son in the story of the prodigal. Only his parents could get close. They would often drop everything and run to wherever he was to bail him out of whatever trouble he found himself in. The pattern they fell into was well worn. No matter the trouble he got into, there was always love on the other side.
When they died a year ago, he spiraled down even more. A court-ordered device was installed in his truck to prevent him from driving drunk. He got around this by taking his dad’s truck instead. Family members worried he would hit and kill someone. He never did, though he did put a hole in his parents’ garage door backing his truck up their driveway. Once, he fell out of his truck outside a bar and spent a cold, northern night sleeping on the ground.
