Farewell, Moss Randolph

My great-uncle, step-grandfather passed away yesterday. While I've been expecting the news for quite sometime, I was quite unprepared for his actual death. He died alone, much like he's spent his entire life.

Before I knew him, Moss was my grandmother's brother-in-law. He was my grandfather's brother. Except my real grandfather died well before I was born (when my mum was 17) so I never knew him. And since my father's father also died well before I was born, Moss was really the only grandfather I ever knew.

Some 20+ years after the death of his brother, Moss and my grandmother met at some family function and sparks flew. Moss confessed that he had always been in love with her and they started some long-distance courting. Moss lived in Los Angeles, CA while my grandmother lived in New York City. It wasn't too long before they married and my grandmother moved out to Los Angeles to be with Moss. As a young teen, I spent school holidays and summer vacations in Los Angeles with them.

You know, I remember Moss telling me stories of when he grew up, but now I can't remember them. I'd give anything to hear one of those stories again. But one thing I do remember is how much he idolized his big brother, my grandfather, and followed him to McGill University and became an engineer. See, they grew up in Canada. He found his way down to the United States and took a job here, took a job there - more interested in the adventure than in settling down and starting a family. He spent some time in Mexico. Then he spent some time in southwest US before settling down in sunny California. Even after he married my grandmother, he would take her on adventures. They went to live in Chile for awhile and traveled to lots of other places. I think he and I are a lot alike.

I loved to listen to his stories. Sometimes, he'd tell me the same story over and over again. It's been so long since I've heard him tell me a story that I can barely remember them. I'd give anything to hear one of his stories again.

When I was a kid and would visit him in Los Angeles, he and I would go for a run every day. Then, after dinner, we'd go play billiards in the apartment building where he and my grandmother lived. One day he came home after stopping at the public library. He had a bunch of books on how to play pool. He poured over those books in his typical engineer-style. I wasn't interested in reading about angles or strategy. He got to be a really good pool player; I still stink at the game.

The 1984 Olympics were in Los Angeles. I managed to get some tickets and Moss and I went to see Mary Decker, my idol, run. Actually, we saw her fall, but that's a different story for another time. We watched the men's steeplechase and a lot of other events. I'll never forget that day. We asked a stranger to take our photo. I still treasure that photo.

Another time, after he and my grandmother retired and moved to Florida, I visited them there. I had a watch where you could enter some metrics and it would calculate the distance you ran. In his true engineer style, he measured my stride by measuring distance ran by number of strides between two light posts so that we could enter the accurate stride length into the watch. His calculation was perfect.

Then, my grandmother got sick. She was dying. He was the one who took care of her. He did everything for her. He got one hour off each day when a nurse came in to watch over her while he took a break. He never complained. He just stayed there with her until the very end. I was in graduate school at the time.

A year later, I flew down to Florida to visit him during the one year anniversary of my grandmother's death. Her clothes and stuff were just where she left them. It almost seemed like she was going to walk in the door any minute. I helped him get rid of her stuff. I bawled my eyes out but he didn't cry at all. He loved her more than anything, but to him, it was just stuff. And he didn't really have much emotional attachment to stuff.

I loved our time together. Moss came to visit me once when I lived in Takoma Park, MD. I remember eating turkey burgers on our screened in back porch and he was telling me and my roommates stories. They were mesmerized by his stories and would ask questions. He'd tell story after story. After he left, my roommates begged for him to come back to visit.

He came to visit me one year at the farm I lived on in Durham, NC. I remember him washing my truck. He had a particular brand of soap he loved to use and a particular cloth - just perfect for washing cars. He did a great job on my truck - better than I had ever done.

At the farm, we sat on my front porch and watched the cows in the field. He was an old man by then and we no longer ran together. Instead, I'd go for a run and he'd wait for me to come back. He met my friends; they'd always ask me when he was returning for a visit. Everyone loved Moss. I'd ask him why he never married before he married my grandmother. He'd shrug his shoulders and not say much. I guess he was too much of a free spirit to really settle down much. Everyone loved him, but he spent a lot of time alone.

One time he came to visit me right after I bought my first house. He helped me prune the trees in the yard. He picked up the pitch fork and said he wanted to turn the soil so that I could have a garden. " Tarheel soil is clay, Moss.", I said. "It's hard to turn. You're going to hurt yourself." But he insisted. "OK. I'm going to go for a run, then", I said. "I'll be back after a few miles. " He picked up the pitch fork and stuck it in the ground. I trotted across the street to begin my run. I didn't get even 1/4 mile before I turned around, terrified that he was going to hurt himself while turning the soil. When I returned, he looked relieved. I asked him if he wanted a glass of ice tea. He put down the pitch fork and gratefully followed me inside the house for a glass of cold ice tea. We never talked about the garden again.

About a year after that visit, he suffered a stroke and he never recovered. I wanted him to come live with me, but my uncle insisted he stay in a nursing home in Connecticut near my uncle. I'm grateful to my uncle because I probably wouldn't have met the man I married, nor would I have had my three wonderful children if I had to take care of Moss after his stroke. However, having Moss in such a horrible place was painful. It was a horrible place - the kind of place where one can easily lose their mind. It pained me just to think of him there. Here was a man so full of life stuck in a place so full of insanity. Just that thought made me crazy. He deserved so much better.

He couldn't make it to my wedding. And he never met my daughter. I wanted so badly to name one of my children after him, but couldn't. And now he's dead and all I have are these fading memories.

Goodbye, sweet Moss. I love you more than anything. If there is a heaven, you, more than anyone deserve to be there. I miss you.