Dear Uncle Brian

By Brian McLane

As I've mentioned on more than one occasion, my greatest hope in life had always been to one day start a family of my own.  That never happened, at least in a traditional fashion, of course.  But that's not to say that, to this day, I still don't have many in my life who are every bit as close to me as had they been my own sons and daughters.  For that reason, of all the roles I've ever found myself playing in life, none meant any more to me that my role as "Uncle Brian" to so many of nieces and nephews, along with countless friends of theirs.  To that end, let me share with you a letter I  received a while back from one of those nephews, Michael, who's also one of my favorite people in the world.  And every time I read Michael's note (below), I feel even more humbled by the thoughts and emotions he was willing to share with me.  Enjoy. (And thank you, Michael.  I love you, buddy.)

Dear Brian:

I’ve been thinking about you a great deal lately and I wanted to let you know how much you’ve meant to me.  Two recent events have encouraged me to reflect on our long relationship.

First, as you recall, my close friend Randy Pacelli died in 1994. Something that has helped me over the years has been remaining on contact with his mother and father. I spoke with Steve Pacelli in October and he was reminiscing about what would have been Randy’s 51^st birthday. While it was a sorrowful conversation, it was clear that Randy has remained alive in both our hearts because of the space we have held for him and because Steve and I have kept him alive through dialogue.

Recently, too, I have reconnected with an old friend from college (by the way, it was so great seeing you last February with your college buddies).  My friend Chris and I rekindled as if time hadn’t elapsed.  During our conversation, he shared that his father had passed last year. I could hear his grief through the phone and what resonated with me most was Chris’ reflection about feeling guilty for not sharing more fully with his dad how much he loved him.

Something I have always admired about you, Brian, is your willingness and naturalness to let those in your life know how much they mean to you, and that you love them. In this regard, you have served as a model for my life. The ease with which you’ve done this, I know, has not come without moments of profound stress, anxiety and depression. Your tireless advocacy for the disabled, and your work on behalf of those less fortunate, marginalized and voiceless, has been evident from as far back as my memory stretches.  In fact, my passion for causes that speak to these same communities has been deeply influenced by how you continue to conduct your life.

I have vivid memories of traveling with you as a young man and feeling angered at how others would look at you in public. While you may have felt a myriad of emotions over such perceptions, it was always (and, frankly, continues to be) your grace, courage and steadfastness that, somehow, managed to rise above all else and stand out first and foremost in my eyes.

What I also remember is how deftly you could interact with presidents, university chancellors and other A-listers, while somehow managing to provide the same level of deference and respect to janitors, parking attendants and hotel staffers.

And finally, I suppose, no reflection of our relationship would be complete without at least mentioning our closest bond of all (and, no, I’m not talking about our time together on 9/11).  Among the many, many gifts you’ve bestowed upon me over the years, Brian, perhaps the greatest is our now mutual love of the Mighty Orange.  People who know me well, or even casually, know how much Syracuse University means to me.  And whenever someone comments on my passion for all things Orange, I always feel compelled to offer this little nugget in return.  “Hey,” I say, “Believe it or not, there’s a guy I know who’s an even bigger fan than I am.” I want to thank you for the uncountable number of games, experiences and thrills that S.U. sports teams have provided me over the years.   And I remain forever in your debt for infusing my DNA with such passion and such an abiding love.

Please understand, it was not my intention to send you this letter as some sort of macabre goodbye. Rather, I send it as testimony to my feelings and to make clear, should there be any doubt, the deep and profound influence you’ve had on me. You may not remember this, but you had sent me a letter after Randy died. I still have it, in fact. In it, you told me you too have suffered great loss in your life, but what all your loss had taught you was that it was critical to always tell those closest to you how near and dear they are to your heart.

So, with that in mind, Uncle Brian – and this has been true for as long as I can remember – let me just say thank you and that I love you deeply.  Always will, in fact.

Your nephew,

Michael