Dedication to My Favorite Uncle

Edward Howard Colson, Jr., a.k.a. Howie, a.k.a. Uncle Ed, was my favorite uncle. He was 58 years old. Two days from now, he would have turned 59. But, now, he will not live to see another birthday. He died last night.

My favorite uncle lived in Alameda, California just outside of San Francisco. Some would have called him a screw up, at least back in the 70's. His family thought he was dead after he ran off and found himself in a gutter in San Fran many years ago. He called his dad, my grandpa, and cleaned up his act.

But I don't remember any of that. I wasn't born, yet.

What I remember is the man who walked so fast, it was just below a run, so I had to run to keep up with him, even as an adult. Was he walking so fast to greet his future, or was he walking to avoid something? I don't know. I just knew I had to stay close, or I would miss all the fun.

He took me antiquing and picked out the most beautiful china, which he then placed tenderly on shelves you would think could not survive California earthquakes. But he knew better. He ushered me through the streets of San Francisco educating me about all the sights - talking as fast as he walked. He took me to his favorite hot spots, gorged me on Ghiradelli chocolate and clam chowder in a bread bowl. We strolled through Berkeley, The Castro, Haight Ashbury - all the while he's pointing out sites like a proper tour guide. We rode the trolley and trekked up Lombard Street. We walked the Golden Gate Bridge together and looked out over the edge of the world. We rode the ferry to Alcatraz and took the guided tour, joking around inside the cells and taking pictures.

Like most kids, I thought he was not just awesome, but indestructible. He survived a drive by shooting in Montrose in Houston many years ago. He survived the Bay Bridge collapse during the earthquake in 1989. The man always seemed to walk away unscathed.

That was his personality. He didn't let life get him down. There was too much life to be lived to worry about what could have happened.

From the time he was a small child, my Uncle Ed knew he was gay. In a letter to my grandmother, he "told it like it was." My mom still has the letter. She and the rest of his family thought even more highly of him because of his courage and bravery. Families don't always do what's right by each other as many, many, many of my uncle's friends can tell you.

The fact is, when my parents revealed this "family secret" to me, I was absolutely unsurprised. I looked at my mom and said, "Duh. He's gay. He took me antiquing for crying out loud."

He is, was, and always will be my favorite uncle.

He took us to Great America in California, and took me on a roller coaster that went upside down on the ceiling. I was a big girl, but my sister wasn't, so I got to go without her. Unfortunately, I was still too little for the buckle and almost fell out when we raced skyward, but he grabbed me tight and held on. What a rush that was! Of course, he made me promise not to tell my mom.

I remember his Beanie Baby collection from which he allowed my sister and me to choose just one each - the ones "born" on our birthdays.

His Nightmare Before Christmas collection.

His duplex.

His prize-winning poodles.

Deva, his pet cockatoo. She would stay on his shoulder even when he took her outside, and she ate from his own plate while he had his morning coffee.

His Halloween costumes. I have a picture of one of them. He wore a French maid's costume complete with mustache and feather duster.

Uncle Ed sent us Christmas presents every year until we were 18. He bought us the things my parents couldn't afford. When I was 15, we visited for Christmas, and he bought me a Union Bay jacket I'd been mooning over. An honest-to-goodness brand-name, brand new coat. Then we went to Sanrio AND FAO Schwartz! Toys! Brand, spanking new toys. With a twinkle in his eye, he would watch us as we browsed our favorite characters and surprise us later with a gift he knew we wanted.

When I was an adult, I finally got to accompany my Uncle Ed on night time adventures. We walked the beach in Florida and talked, or mostly, he talked. You couldn't get a word in edgewise when he was talking. But he always spoke the truth. The cold, hard, blunt truth. We went clubbing in Montrose and he told me about bear bars and drag queens.

At my wedding, he was one of two men who danced with me properly, expertly spinning me around in my wedding gown like he was born to do it.

My favorite uncle.

A year and four months ago, he found out he had cancer of the esophagus. After surgery and chemo earlier this year, his cancer came back, and it metasticized. It was in his bone marrow. I found out just two short weeks ago. My mom called this morning, and I knew as soon as I picked up the phone and heard her shaky voice that he was gone. All I could muster was an eloquent string of "No. No. No. No." I knew it was coming, and I knew he wanted to die on his own terms, and I knew he had already given up the fight, but I was stunned nonetheless.

When I talked to him two weeks ago, he said, "I don't like long check outs. When it's my time, I just want to go - no tubes, no machines, no drugs, nothing."

Yesterday, his family and friends celebrated his birthday. He stayed up reminiscing, telling silly stories, reading his cards, and opening his presents. He laid down on the couch to rest. My dad said he seemed delirious, but he was on a lot of medication, so that didn't seem amiss. My dad laid on the floor next to the couch, while my mom went upstairs to sleep. My uncle died there last night, on his couch in his home, surrounded by his beloved pets, family, and friends.

He died on his own terms; the same way he lived his life.