Published in the column 'Young Man's View' in Tribune's 'The Big T' on October 1, 2011
By ADRIAN GIBSON
Goodbye (Long Island’s) rose,
May you ever grow in our hearts
You were the grace that placed itself
Where lives were torn apart
You called out to our (island)
And you whispered to those in pain
Now you belong to heaven
And the stars spell out your name……….
Elton John’s Candle in the Wind 1997, with inserted words representative of my late uncle, Aaron Lowell Gibson
Today, I write this column heavy-hearted and with a gaping hole in my spirit and a bottom-less emptiness that has left me in a state of sorrowfulness, but I want to pay homage to my late uncle—Aaron Gibson—who meant so much to me. I promised that this would be my first column, after being absent for awhile, in the Big T—the Tribune’s explosive, new week end paper. Frankly, I have dreaded writing such a piece, procrastinating all summer and constantly breaking-down into tears as I attempted to write it bit by bit. I must say that this is the first time that I’ve dealt with death involving such a close family member and that we lost the irreplaceable heart of our family and it has been heartbreaking for all of us.
It is heart-wrenching as I reminisce and almost hear the booming laughter of one of the brightest, most talented sons of our nation. This summer, it was so bizarre to be in Long Island without him being there. It is a feeling that I’ll never get use to and, as I write, I can recall my constant visits to his grave to sit and talk with him though never receiving a response or perhaps merely hearing the leaves of trees flutter as the wind cascades downwards through their branches.
When Uncle Aaron died, I immediately traveled to Long Island, and constantly looked for him to walk through the door, even hoping that someone would tell me that news of death was a demented, elaborate prank. It was not until after my “morgue encounter”—upon returning to Nassau days later (his body had been flown to Nassau under police escort on the day he died)—I truly face reality and said “oh gosh, this is where you are!” I’ve been to Long Island several times since then and still—subconsciously—anticipate or even look for him to burst through the door.
Many persons make saints of people after their deaths, but Aaron wonderful uncle, a father-like figure, the consummate friend, a mentor, my protector and ever present supporter and confidante—all wrapped into one free-spirited gentleman whose charm and calm demeanour epitomized cool. I idolized him, strived to impress him and at tomes felt that he even had more confidence in me than I had in myself. He truly understood me.
Early on the morning of May 19th, 2011, Uncle Aaron visited his parents’ home to return his father’s car and retrieve his motorcycle. He also entered his parents’ bedroom, asking his mother if she had awoken. Shortly thereafter, uncle was involved in an accident and succumbed to fatal injuries at the local clinic. Although he fought vehemently for his life, suddenly this young giant slipped away from here into eternity at age 44.
Over his lifetime, uncle brought great joy to his parents (Edward and Lenora Gibson) and was the lifelong love of his parents, family and friends.
He demonstrated an undeniable commitment to his career choice (building contractor), which was evident to the last day of his life. His work is evident in homes and other infrastructure/edifices in New Providence, Eleuthera, Exuma Grand Bahama and, perhaps most prominently, in Long Island. As a contractor, he was known for his swiftness when completing a project. He built his parents’ house in Bunches, Long Island and was competent in every aspect of construction. Moreover, he loved to farm. No doubt, he was my grandparents’ most talented child.
I remember how, as a child, he took me to his work sites, teaching me his trade and even paying me—if he gave me $10, $20 or $30 dollars, I felt like a millionaire then. Just last year, he traveled to Nassau for a few weeks and, alongside my grand-dad (who handled my landscaping), built a beautiful wall and added other features to my house that has increased the value by thousands of dollars. During construction, he always told me how he would put his best work into my home as he felt it was the family’s homestead when visiting Nassau or when one needed a place to stay. Had he not done that work, I could not afford what another contractor would have charged because, for example, the wall itself is worth $15,000.
My uncle was a hardworking son of the soil who loved and nurtured his children Rashad and Rache and extended the same loving and protective embrace to his nephews and niece—myself, my sister Shenell and my brother Shavado (his brother Paul’s children)—who also grew up with him in Long Island. He always encouraged members of the family to set goals, have high family values and pursue high educational standards. He saw family as a special blessing and always exhibited a faith in God and godly character and integrity.
I recall the many stories I knew and was told of this summer about how he helped and exhibited a kind hearted spirit to so many youngsters—taking lunch to North Long Island High for several of those who couldn’t afford lunch, mentoring and even providing shelter in his home as well extending a helping hand to many residents. He was as bona fide and authentic as they come and knew the importance of giving back to his community.
He exemplified courage, humility, strength and determination in meeting life’s varied challenges. He always gave great advice, once admonishing me to remember that if I ever think to maliciously hurt or persecute someone, “remember if ya dig one ditch for someone, make sure you dig two (meaning one for myself as well).” He truly believed in fair play and that life is cyclical, that is, what goes around comes around.
Throughout his life, Uncle Aaron became known as a Mr. Fix-it-all, a jack of many trades who mastered them all. To describe him as well-rounded would perhaps still be an understatement as his talent and creative mindedness knew no bounds. He had a theory for everything—I watched him get low on gas as he was dropping us on the long ride to school one morning and he was determined that we would arrive to school and arrive on time. As the car began to sputter, he went to the back trunk, took out a small jug of gas, placed some in the carburetor, then drove some more until the car stopped and repeated the same steps until he got us to school and he went on to the nearby gas station in Simms. On another occasion, I recall him running out of thin set whilst laying tiles at his parents’ home and, in an innovative moment, temporarily resorted to creatively mixing cement to apply a few tiles. Once the grout was applied, one could not tell which tiles were laid with thin set from those laid using cement.
A few years ago, uncle came to Nassau to fulfill a few construction contracts he had agreed to. At that time, when I asked him if he could compose and send text messages, he told me no and that he wasn’t too interested and preferred to just call someone. Well, one night his vehicle broke down and he had previously talked out all of his minutes, with enough left to text. One could imagine my surprise when I his text requesting my assistance—laughingly, he told me that he sat in his car that night and taught himself to text on the spot. He became a “textoholic” after that, texting up until he died—how can I ever forget those “what’s gern on lion” text messages.
Uncle Aaron had quite a charming, infectious and endearing personality. It was easy to love him and feel like you knew him a lifetime. No doubt, many persons can remember his famous quotes—“hey cous”, “crossroad”, “hey bosslady”, “hey papa”, “that’s a Scotland yard”, “what’s going on Lion” and when referring to some family members, “that’s a G-unit (G for Gibson).” He loved candy, and although they wore down his teeth, he would give you the biggest laugh that one can imagine—front teeth missing and all.
Moreover, uncle played the guitar at church (also the accordion) and was, particularly in his younger days, known for his passionate, skillful and artful handling of a motorbike. He loved music and he loved to sing.
Dearest uncle, when you called me the night before, how was I to know that that would be the last time that we would talk, that that was the last time I would hear “what’s going on Lion”, the last time we would draw an outline for the future or engage in happy, fulfilling chat. Your wit knew no bounds and your generosity, kindheartedness and love for family was beyond measure. I have just begun to get my appetite back.
Uncle, thank you for teaching me so much about life (to drive, talk to girls, hammer in a nail, shoot a basketball, etc). Your impact upon my life is unforgettable. Thank you for missing school to baby-sit me. It’s so hard for me to look at the monumental enhancements you made to my house without crying and recalling how you labored into the night to give me what you said would be your best work ever. I miss our time roasting corn on Deals beach; I miss seeing you use jam jars and soup cans for cups; I miss your cooking; I miss your calls, your smile/laughter and our conversations; I miss you, so much. You can’t imagine all the pain I feel.
Uncle, if God has a garden, I know you’re certainly a rose, a big and vibrant red one! Uncle, the memories of you gives me the strength I need to carry on, so till the day we meet again, you will always reside in my heart.
Goodbye Long Island’s rose, “your candle’s burned out long before your legend ever will!”
