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Some of my fondest childhood memories come from simple, quiet moments that carried profound meaning. I remember watching my Uncle Vic and his son Max tossing a football back and forth in my great granny Lois' backyard. They moved with ease, a snapshot of familial connection, though I don’t recall joining them. I was just an observer, soaking in the scene without fully understanding its significance. That memory has stayed with me—a symbol of fleeting normalcy in a family that, like all families, carried its share of burdens.
One Christmas at Uncle Vic and Aunt Jean’s house stands out vividly in my mind. The melody of “Do You Hear What I Hear?” filled the room, likely Bing Crosby’s version. His deep, resonant voice seemed to add a sense of reverence to the gathering. I sat quietly, taking it all in, wondering about the purpose of the gathering. The haunting beauty of the song, with its message of Jesus’ birth, left a lasting imprint on me. Even now, hearing it transports me back to that room, a reminder of how music can connect us to moments of hope and reflection, even in the midst of sorrow.
The Tragedy of Uncle Vic and Cousin Max
Life, however, isn’t only made of moments of joy or tranquility. Some memories carry a heavier weight, lingering over the years. My Uncle Vic, who had once tossed that football in the backyard, died tragically in 1966. I was just 8 years old when I attended his funeral. At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the circumstances of his death, but years later, I learned the painful truth: he had jumped from the fourth floor of a hospital in San Francisco.
Uncle Vic had been battling immense pain due to his treatment for smoking-related health issues. Whether it was physical agony or despair that drove him to such an act, his death left behind a trail of grief and unanswered questions. Standing over his open casket at the funeral, I can still see the image of him—his hands folded, a white cloth wrapped around his forehead to cover the damage from the fall. It was a haunting sight, one that lingered in my young mind and shaped my early understanding of life’s fragility.
Tragedy didn’t stop there. Five years later, in 1971 when I was living at my aunt Jerina and uncle Ron's house I recall my aunt receiving a phone call. After what seemed like no more than a few minutes she started to say something to me but before she did I could read her face as though something terrible had happened. I imagined that my beloved great granny had died and when I blurted out "Did great granny die?" she said no but the death was my cousin Max Cleere who took his own life. I didn't know all the details at the time but I do remember attending a memorial in Stockton, Ca. Everything about that is very fuzzy now.
Max was born on Christmas Day in 1937, a fact that should have been a joyous milestone for the family. But his life ended in heartbreak. He had a new son, but his marriage was troubled, and the weight of his struggles overwhelmed him. My cousin, Karyn Margolis, the baby sister of Max who has passed away, once told me that Max’s wife was the source of his despair. True or not, I struggle to comprehend the choice Max made—to leave his child fatherless. To me, it seemed a thoughtless and selfish act, but I also acknowledge the complexity of human pain and suffering.
One Christmas at Uncle Vic and Aunt Jean’s house stands out vividly in my mind. The melody of “Do You Hear What I Hear?” filled the room, likely Bing Crosby’s version. His deep, resonant voice seemed to add a sense of reverence to the gathering. I sat quietly, taking it all in, wondering about the purpose of the gathering. The haunting beauty of the song, with its message of Jesus’ birth, left a lasting imprint on me. Even now, hearing it transports me back to that room, a reminder of how music can connect us to moments of hope and reflection, even in the midst of sorrow.
The Tragedy of Uncle Vic and Cousin Max
Life, however, isn’t only made of moments of joy or tranquility. Some memories carry a heavier weight, lingering over the years. My Uncle Vic, who had once tossed that football in the backyard, died tragically in 1966. I was just 8 years old when I attended his funeral. At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the circumstances of his death, but years later, I learned the painful truth: he had jumped from the fourth floor of a hospital in San Francisco.
Uncle Vic had been battling immense pain due to his treatment for smoking-related health issues. Whether it was physical agony or despair that drove him to such an act, his death left behind a trail of grief and unanswered questions. Standing over his open casket at the funeral, I can still see the image of him—his hands folded, a white cloth wrapped around his forehead to cover the damage from the fall. It was a haunting sight, one that lingered in my young mind and shaped my early understanding of life’s fragility.
Tragedy didn’t stop there. Five years later, in 1971 when I was living at my aunt Jerina and uncle Ron's house I recall my aunt receiving a phone call. After what seemed like no more than a few minutes she started to say something to me but before she did I could read her face as though something terrible had happened. I imagined that my beloved great granny had died and when I blurted out "Did great granny die?" she said no but the death was my cousin Max Cleere who took his own life. I didn't know all the details at the time but I do remember attending a memorial in Stockton, Ca. Everything about that is very fuzzy now.
Max was born on Christmas Day in 1937, a fact that should have been a joyous milestone for the family. But his life ended in heartbreak. He had a new son, but his marriage was troubled, and the weight of his struggles overwhelmed him. My cousin, Karyn Margolis, the baby sister of Max who has passed away, once told me that Max’s wife was the source of his despair. True or not, I struggle to comprehend the choice Max made—to leave his child fatherless. To me, it seemed a thoughtless and selfish act, but I also acknowledge the complexity of human pain and suffering.
In 2022 Karyn died from heart failure but before her death I had several good phone conversations with her and took her for lunch at one of my favorite restaurants in Sherman Oaks, CA called "Jinky's". We sample the delicious chili and then found our way to her daughter Cindy's place. Cindy was a celebrity of sorts having done swimwear modeling and known for being the most downloaded girl on the internet.
The Ripple Effects of Grief
The deaths of Uncle Vic and Max left indelible marks on our family, rippling through the generations. My Great Aunt Jean, Max’s mother, carried the grief of these losses deeply. Christmas, which should have been a time of joy, became a poignant reminder of what was lost. Max’s birth on Christmas Day in 1937 was once a cause for celebration, but his untimely death cast a shadow over the holiday for Aunt Jean. Each December 25th brought a mix of memories, and her sadness was palpable.
My Great Grandmother Lois also carried the weight of these tragedies. She had seen so much in her lifetime—raising three daughters, enduring personal losses, and stepping in to care for me when my mother could not. Lois often reflected on Max’s death, though I can’t recall her exact words. Her sorrow was evident, a testament to her deep love for her family and her resilience in the face of so much hardship.
Reflections on Life’s Fragility and Responsibility
As I reflect on these moments now, I am struck by how much they shaped my perspective on life, love, and responsibility. The losses of Uncle Vic and Max serve as poignant reminders of the fragility of life and the importance of finding strength and meaning in the face of adversity. Their absence left a void in my childhood—a void where father figures and mentors could have stood.
Had Uncle Vic and Max lived, they might have provided lessons and guidance during my formative years. Without them, I had to navigate my journey largely on my own, piecing together lessons from those around me. Their stories compel me to appreciate the family members I do have and to seek strength in moments of hardship.
The Faithfulness of God’s Mercies
In the midst of these tragedies, I am reminded of a verse from Lamentations 3:22-23: “It is of the LORD’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.” Looking back, I can see God’s hand preserving me through the pain and loss. Even in the absence of Uncle Vic and Max, God placed others in my life to teach me, guide me, and help me grow into the person I am today.
These stories, though painful, are an integral part of my journey. They remind me to cherish the time we have with loved ones and to be a source of hope and encouragement for others. Life is fleeting, and our choices leave lasting impacts on those around us. In sharing these experiences, I hope to offer my readers a glimpse into the complexities of family, the reality of loss, and the unshakable hope that comes from God’s faithfulness.
Quiet Lessons Can Bring Transformation
The Ripple Effects of Grief
The deaths of Uncle Vic and Max left indelible marks on our family, rippling through the generations. My Great Aunt Jean, Max’s mother, carried the grief of these losses deeply. Christmas, which should have been a time of joy, became a poignant reminder of what was lost. Max’s birth on Christmas Day in 1937 was once a cause for celebration, but his untimely death cast a shadow over the holiday for Aunt Jean. Each December 25th brought a mix of memories, and her sadness was palpable.
My Great Grandmother Lois also carried the weight of these tragedies. She had seen so much in her lifetime—raising three daughters, enduring personal losses, and stepping in to care for me when my mother could not. Lois often reflected on Max’s death, though I can’t recall her exact words. Her sorrow was evident, a testament to her deep love for her family and her resilience in the face of so much hardship.
Reflections on Life’s Fragility and Responsibility
As I reflect on these moments now, I am struck by how much they shaped my perspective on life, love, and responsibility. The losses of Uncle Vic and Max serve as poignant reminders of the fragility of life and the importance of finding strength and meaning in the face of adversity. Their absence left a void in my childhood—a void where father figures and mentors could have stood.
Had Uncle Vic and Max lived, they might have provided lessons and guidance during my formative years. Without them, I had to navigate my journey largely on my own, piecing together lessons from those around me. Their stories compel me to appreciate the family members I do have and to seek strength in moments of hardship.
The Faithfulness of God’s Mercies
In the midst of these tragedies, I am reminded of a verse from Lamentations 3:22-23: “It is of the LORD’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.” Looking back, I can see God’s hand preserving me through the pain and loss. Even in the absence of Uncle Vic and Max, God placed others in my life to teach me, guide me, and help me grow into the person I am today.
These stories, though painful, are an integral part of my journey. They remind me to cherish the time we have with loved ones and to be a source of hope and encouragement for others. Life is fleeting, and our choices leave lasting impacts on those around us. In sharing these experiences, I hope to offer my readers a glimpse into the complexities of family, the reality of loss, and the unshakable hope that comes from God’s faithfulness.
Quiet Lessons Can Bring Transformation
The absence of certain male role models and the loss of my uncle and cousin highlight the importance of guidance during formative years. I trust this will teach you the necessity of mentorship, especially for young people who might lack positive influences in their lives.
My story isn’t just about tragedy—it’s about redemption. The presence of God’s grace through it all demonstrates how brokenness doesn’t have to be the end of the story. My readers should be reminded that their own struggles can lead to profound transformation if they remain open to growth and healing.
Brother Carlton ministers the gospel to the Los Angeles area. Formerly a Hollywood actor (SAG member) and property cleanup expert, he now spends most of his time studying the scriptures, writing articles, hymns, and poems, and doing street preaching. See all his videos on YouTube Brother Carlton.
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Very thought provoking with insights how each of us as individuals process lifes triumphs and struggles. We must remember to treat each minute as a blessing and avoid those who are toxic to joy.
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