This is a bit of a departure from what I've written about on this blog thus far, but I feel a need to say something here about the recent death of my Uncle Buddy.

My Uncle Buddy died at his home on Thursday, Feb. 28. He was 83 years old and had been very ill with emphysema for quite some time. By the time I got the news, I already had plans in place to race the Charlotte Duathlon. I thought about skipping the race and heading straight home to Mobile, Ala., to be with my family, but since the funeral didn't take place until the following Tuesday (March 4), I went ahead and did the race. Then I drove from the race site first to Atlanta, stayed overnight with friends there, and then continued to Mobile on Sunday.

I can't say that Uncle Buddy and I were extremely close, especially considering that I have lived away from Mobile for 24 years now. I can say that he is someone I liked and admired very much my entire life. Apart from my parents, he was the most influential adult in my life when I was a child. And with his passing, I feel that one of the constants in my life, one of the pillars upon which my own sense of security and well being in the world was based, is gone. I'm sure that my father, who was Uncle Buddy's best friend and vice versa, must feel this even more strongly than I do, as do Uncle Buddy's surviving children and grandchildren.

But even though I felt sad and shed tears at the funeral, the service was very much a celebration of a man who had lived a remarkable life and had a very positive impact on many people, both within and without our family. Now one week later, my sadness over Uncle Buddy's passing is balanced by an equally strong feeling of being glad that I knew him while he was alive.

Rest in peace, Uncle Buddy. Your spirit lives on in the many lives that you touched.