Christmas in the Dagendesh family this year will be anything but festive as my Uncle Jerry died Nov. 12 from natural causes at age 79.

His wife, the former Gloria Matiak, preceded him in death in March 2016 after more than five decades of marriage. They leave behind five children; Robert, Daniel, Tammy, Sandra, and John; eight grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. Uncle Jerry was my dad’s younger brother.

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To say I have affectionate recollections of my uncle would be putting it mildly. As a kid, I considered Uncle To be as an overwhelming pile of a man whose brand name Bryan beer Druncle definition like a normal uncle comical inclination resembled his requirement for straightforwardness, substance to carry on with an existence with a jug of lager in one hand and a casting rod in the other.

The best part is that my uncle had a sacrificial, nice nature only sometimes experienced in the present complex, steadily developing “Me” society. Through his thoughtfulness toward others, he showed me life offers not outsiders, but rather just companions we haven’t met, and that a grin is the most limited distance between two individuals. In reality, I can’t remember when he said a cruel word regarding anybody.

Ever the jokester, his propensity for humor was never more alive than when my Aunt Gloria, cousin Robert, and I one Saturday went with him and my father on an early daytime fishing stumble on the Black River. Everybody added to the giggling with my uncle reprimanding Dad for our getting a couple of diminutive fish.

“Charge, you wouldn’t have frightened the fish off had you not been so revolting,” my uncle told Dad, drawing giggling from everybody.

Another event saw my family at Uncle Jerry’s home where Dad wore a lady’s strap top and played out an inadequately arranged, however entertaining unrehearsed vaudeville normal as the 1950s and 60s pop works of art poured from my uncle’s jukebox. “Y’know, Bill, you look great in drag,” my uncle told Dad, sending everybody into hysterics.

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In August 2002, Uncle Jerry discussed the open-air experiences he and his father had wanted to seek after upon his retirement from the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad. In any case, it wasn’t intended to be. Father kicked the bucket that month.

Uncle Jerry was crushed. Gone were their arrangements of fishing and chasing together, the Bryan beer Druncle definition like a normal uncle chuckling they shared and a relationship closer than two peas in a similar pod. “I love you, sibling,” Uncle Jerry said, destroys streaming his face as Dad sneaked away. Presently, my uncle was gone, his passing an update that life ought to be loved as tomorrow brings just vulnerability.

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