Uncle Dill

This story contains religious themes. If this offends you, you have been warned.

 Hey, I can trust you with something, can’t I? It’s personal and if some people find out, it could cause a bunch of trouble. I said I would keep it to myself and I promised my Uncle Dill, but even he had to tell somebody and God help us, it was me. I can see why he had to tell. This is hard to keep secret.

OK, this was about six months ago, but it seems like it just happened today. As you’ll find out, I can remember vivid details about the thing.

His name was Dillard Pike, but he was always “Uncle Dill” to me. Uncle Dill was 45 years old when he was diagnosed with lung cancer. When I was growing up, he was a guy who turned women’s heads- six foot four, broad shoulders and chest, and thick, jet black hair. He was never the same after Aunt Sarah passed away with colon cancer. He would go days without shaving or bathing and sometimes, wore the same clothes for an entire week at a time. He began to drink a lot of beer and smoke dope. It was less than six months after her death when he went to the doctor and found out that he, too, had cancer.

The cancer acted quickly and, within four months, he had became a scarecrow like figure. He had tried treatment for a few weeks before deciding that it just wasn’t worth the torment and had lost his hair. He was down to 125 pounds and was pretty much helpless. Members of the family were taking turns staying with him at his house. That’s how I came to be there in his bedroom that Friday night last year at about 8:00.

I was sitting there on a camp chair, sipping from a can of Mountain Dew and watching Uncle Dill. His breathing was ragged and halting. My little sister, Donna Jo, had asthma when she was growing up and it sounded like one of her attacks from back then, only much worse. Uncle Dill’s eyes were wide and bloodshot and he was staring straight ahead. The doctor had recommended oxygen, but my uncle had stubbornly refused.

“Hey, Junior,” Uncle Dill spoke up suddenly. I was startled because my uncle, who had always been very talkative, hadn’t spoken since I had arrived a few hours earlier. I had relieved my Aunt Mona and she said that he hadn’t spoken in the six hours that she had been there.

Uncle Dill’s voice was almost a whisper and very raspy. I leaned closer to make sure that I could hear him.

I guess I should explain that only people in my family call me “Junior”. I don’t like it, but I put up with it because they’re my family.

“I got somethin’ I have to say, somethin’ I need to tell somebody and I know I can trust you. You’ve always been a good boy. Can I tell you?”

I nodded, having no idea what was coming next.

“You know your Aunt Sarah, she was my wife?”

This is an annoying habit people in my family have. They’ll ask if I know somebody and they’ll know very well that I’ve known the person my entire life.

“Yeah,” I say and I nod.

Uncle Dill reaches over and grabs my hand.

“Hey, you remember when she got real sick and they was fixin’ to bring the hospice people in?”

I nodded. Aunt Sarah had actually passed away the morning that the hospice workers were to start caring for her.

“That mornin’, she was really upset. She told me that she was just tired of bein’ alive. She….”

He began to sob and was having difficulty breathing. I handed him a tissue and helped him sit up so he could breathe better. After a few minutes, he caught his breath and regained his composure.

“She said she couldn’t go on any longer. She asked me to help her end it all. I didn’t want to do it. I begged her not to ask me to do that. She said if I loved her, I wouldn’t let her keep sufferin’. So, I…..”

More sobbing and more gasping for breath followed. I helped him sit up again. He managed to breathe a few ragged, but deep breaths.

“Look, Uncle Dill, you ain’t got to do this, you know!” I said.

Uncle Dill shook his head and gripped my hand even tighter, so tight that it almost hurt.

“No, no, I gotta say this!”

“OK,” I said. My voice sounded weak and childish.

“I did what she wanted me to do! I hated myself for it, but I took a pillow and held it over her face! I kilt her just as sure as if I had used a gun!”

“No!” I said, “Cancer was what killed her! She was on her deathbed regardless of what you did!”

“Junior, you tryin’ to convince me or your own self?”

I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer that question.

“Now, I’m layin’ here dyin’ myself. I ain’t sure this ain’t God’s justice payin’ me back for what I’ve done!”

I shook my head.

“I ain’t a great Christian, Uncle Dill, but there ain’t no way of knowin’ things like that!”

“Don’t run yourself down, Junior! You’ve always been a good boy! Me, I’m goin’ straight to hell for what I did! No way around it!”

“Not if you ask for forgiveness! If you ask forgiveness, he won’t turn his back on you! I know that much!”

He was staring at me, a look of disbelief.

“You gotta help me, Junior!”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Dill! Some things a man has to do for himself!”

“I know that, boy!” Uncle Dill sounded frustrated. “ You was raised in church and I only been to funerals and revival meetings I got drug to when I was a kid! I do know that sometimes a preacher gives a man words he can pray. Can you at least do that for your uncle?”

“ I can try….”

I was wishing my cousin Albert was there. He’s a Southern Baptist preacher down in Alabama, after all!

“OK,” I said, “but you need to realize that these ain’t magic words! You have to believe in your heart! You have to mean it!”

He nodded.

“I understand!”

I took a deep breath and tried to gather my thoughts and come up with the right words. My uncle’s grip on my hand felt like it was going to cut off the circulation to my fingers.

“OK, here goes: Dear Lord Jesus…”

“Dear Lord Jesus…”

“I admit that I have sinned against you...”

“I admit that I have sinned against you…”

“I am sorry for my sins…”

“I am sorry for my sins…”

“I repent and put my trust in you…”

“I repent and put my trust in you…”

“I ask you to save me and make Heaven my home…”

“I ask you to save me and make Heaven my home…”

“In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”

He coughed and then, “Jesus name, Amen.”

He smiled and released my hand. I wiggled my fingers and rubbed my hand.

“I did the best I could,” was all I could think to say.

He smiled and nodded.

“I feel 100% better right now,” he said. “I think I’ll close my eyes and try to git to sleep. You still carry that harmonica?”

I smiled and patted my shirt pocket.

“Right here,” I said.

“Play somethin’, if you don’t mind. Probably a hymn of some sport would be good for right now.”

I had learned “What A Friend We Have In Jesus” for Granny’s birthday a while back and played that. He closed his eyes and his chest rose and fell slowly. He seemed to be sleeping.

By the time I reached the last verse, his breathing was very shallow.

Can we find a friend so faithful

Who will all our sorrows share?

Jesus knows our every weakness

Take it to the Lord in prayer

As I played the last few notes, Uncle Dill passed away. I like to think that Jesus and Sarah were waiting for him as he arrived, just to let him know that all was forgiven.

Thanks for listening.