he picked us

About 34 years ago, my parents walked into a church building.

The first person to greet them was Bill Andersen.

He was made their home teacher.

Through the years, he remained their home teacher.

Once a month, he came for Sunday Dinner and gave us a spiritual message. He always brought olives and sweet pickles. He always ate everything on his plate and complimented the chef.

He is the most talented musician i have personally known. He accompanied my parents in duets, quartets, solos and at choir.

He taught me to play the piano.

As we grew older, his monthly visits became bi-monthly and then weekly.

He was a fixture at our Sunday meal - as were his olives and pickles.

Through the years, he watched us grow up.  He watched all of our mistakes, arguments with our parents, came to our performances.

And he always, always hugged us.

He saw it all. And yet, not a drop of criticism spilled from his lips. Only pure, undefiled love.

We nicknamed him, "uncle bill".

Uncle Bill is more than family to me.

Family is tied by blood - unbreakable bonds woven by genetics.

Uncle Bill has never had an obligation to love me. He never had to think of me as highly as he did. He never had to put up with me and my surliness, bad attitude, arrogance or hot temper.

He could've walked away when things were tough. He could've let us go.

But he didn't.

He Picked Us.

He Picked Me.

There are no words to explain, to express, to understand, to teach that kind of love.

The world is a darker place without you in it.

Dear Uncle Bill, you will be missed.