Too confused to come up with a title
As you can see by the distance in the dates between posts, it's exceedingly difficult to turn my muddled thoughts into complete sentences. It's been a rough week here on the Edge. I'm basically living full-out -- working, parenting, moving into a new house -- between rings of a telephone. When the caller ID shows a "417" area code, everything stops. I can feel the friction on my the palm of my hand as I reach out to stop my spinning life. I answer, bracing for the worst by following the same procedure: A deep, deep breath precedes every "Hello." In that .6 of a second, I remind myself to not scream or collapse in a crying heap or punch a hole in the drywall if the news is bad.

Breath. Reminder. "Hello?"

My last remaining male role model is facing death square on. My uncle -- The Uncle Who Made Good -- suffered a brain aneurysm on Sunday. He is hospitalized in Anytown, surrounded by his wife, his two sons, and about a hundred friends and family members. The prognosis is neutral, leaning toward positive; much will be learned about his future over the weekend, and then a surgery tentatively scheduled for mid-week will provide

Uncle John is my dad's next oldest brother, No. 5 of nine children and the undisputed leader of our sprawling yet close family. In times of need, he's the guy people turn to. He is by all measures a success. He married a stunningly beautiful woman more than 30 years ago. He started a business from scratch at age 33; less than 20 years later, he began enjoying a very comfortable retirement. He and my aunt raised two sons who are on their way to their own success.

He has more basic intelligence and more common sense than any two people I've ever known, and I've known a lot of very smart people. But Uncle John is the standard. From him, I learned to always remember from where I came, and that my first loyalty is to my family.

It is from him that I received the most important piece of advice I ever received: "Be sure you tell your kids every day that the world is a better place because they're in it." Like he is about most other things, he's right.

I lost my own father at 19 -- he's still alive, but not enough to provide the guidance an adult child needs. He sometimes struggled with providing this guidance even before his accident. When I stumped him with a question or a concept, my Dad would say, "Ask Uncle John. He'll know, and he'll give you a straight answer." To this day, I'll follow that advice.

Uncle John couldn't replace my father and, to his credit, he didn't try. But he filled many of the gaps, and he sets an example that I bust my ass every day to follow.

We're not a very demonstrative family when it comes to affection. Under normal circumstances, we're more likely to insult each other than to prattle on about how great one of us is. But when things turn, we're there -- even if we can't be there physically, we're there for each other. My cousins know they can call me at 3 in the morning if they want, and if they do, they'll find somebody on the other end of the line who knows exactly how they're feeling. If or when my presence in Anytown becomes necessary -- for my cousins, for any of my aunts or uncles, for my dad or stepmother or sister -- I'm on the next flight out.

Until then, I hope. I listen for the phone. I try to stop my over-caffeinated world from spinning long enough to compose a cohesive thought. I remember who I am and where I came from and why I am who I am. And I wait for things to settle down to tell one of the most important people in my life how important he is.

That's an opoortunity you can be damn sure I'm not going to miss.