Too often in recent times, death has visited itself upon my family, its intrusion bitterly unwelcome.
When my cousin Jacky, one of the younger members of our sprawling clan, received his personalized calling card to meet the Lord, we all discovered something we never imagined was possible - happiness in death. His dying, in fact, was pure joy.
Now don't get the wrong impression and think we were happy to see him go, or that there weren't boocoups of tears shed. There were plenty of those. And don't think for a moment that he wasn't such a fine fellow that his presence wasn't needed. It was needed plenty. He was, we all agree, the comic relief in the family, as well as one of the finest ones who stood within our midst.
He never said a bad word against anyone, he loved all he knew, and all who knew him loved him back. As far as personalities and other things go, he was the brightest light in our family. He was so downright comical about everything that you wondered how his brain could process thoughts that quickly. I, for one, have to think about being funny, but for Jacky it came easy. As easy as the teasing grin that slid across his face the moment he saw anyone he liked. And that was everyone.
At first, we couldn't believe the news. Cancer. And the prognosis wasn't remarkably good. To please his devoted wife, Carolyn, his children and family, he fought. Or at least he good-naturedly pretended to. He took all the treatments and under Carolyn's watchful eye, he ate well, rested often and, whenever the weather permitted, sat in a lawn chair in his car porch and admired the simple pleasures of nature.
I called one day, and he answered the phone.
"Aw, I'm havin' a good time," he said happily. "I been sittin' out here all day, just enjoying the beauty. Oh, it's a beautiful day. Yes ma'am, it is."
As death inched closer, and we prematurely mourned the inevitable day, Jack
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