Farewell, Uncle Clifton

Every family has its own “Uncle Clifton.”

Ours was the last of the greatest generation, the final thread to our mother’s memory and to the Fisher County, Texas, years. The storyteller and the sage. The sailor who flexed his tattoos (from Japan during WWII and Korea) to the delight of his little nieces and nephews.The barefoot, overalled boy who grew up without electricity and lived long enough to hold a phone in his hand that could access the world. The uncle who preferred letter writing and just last week sent one to his oldest niece in Yakima, Washington—arriving on the day after he passed away.

Howell Clifton McCleskey was my uncle, and I will miss him.

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.