Have you ever lost a finger at a funeral?

It was a very sad day.  My uncle’s funeral.  He was a man that meant the world to many people.  He was a doctor, and a damn good one at that.  He was a strong christian who loved the guitar, the outdoors, and most of all his family.  He taught me so much in such a short amount of time.  His love for the outdoors, though it took something as tragic as his death for me to appreciate it, was embedded deeply in me.  I still to this day find peace in the most wild of places, and I have him to thank.   His life came to an end tragically and abruptly while doing something as mundane as checking the mail.  When he crossed the street headed toward the mailbox he was hit at an alarming speed many miles above the limit.  When it came time for the funeral they were unsure whether or not an open casket should even be considered.  On that day the parking lot of the church looked like that of a rock concert.  It was jam packed full, and everybody who’s life was touched by him wanted a seat in the arena.  I was too young to really comprehend exactly what death was, but I knew in life this guy was important.  I was remembering things that happened involving my uncle in life.  How much ketchup he put on his meatloaf.  How he loved the Eagles, how much I hated them, and our conversations surrounding the topic.  Most of all I remembered him dragging me up to the summit of Guadelupe Peak, the highest peak in Texas.  At nearly 9,000 feet it was a monster.  My hometown sat at about 200 feet above sea level, and I had never been on a hike.  It was a hot day…even for a Texas spring.  This was before the days of camelbacks so there was just one big canteen and my uncle, aunt, cousin, and I were all sharing it.  I kept begging for water, and he just kept mumbling “survival of the fittest” as a response.  I had no idea what that meant.  I was a kid!  Now I can appreciate such a strong Christian man referencing Darwin as quite an amusing moment.  The only part of that day I enjoyed at the time was drinking Tang at the summit, and marveling at the thousands of ladybug covering the plant life.  Still in the parking lot thinking I stepped out of the car. For some reason my little brother had opened the door for me.  We were never really cordial to each other, so this seemed very odd.  Once he came along everything I had to myself for all those years I had to share…why should I like him!?  Just as started to walk away I heard a slam and felt a wave of pain.  I let out a cry, but I still hadn’t looked yet.  I turned to look and that’s when I really lost it.  My finger was jammed directly in the locking mechanism in the car door.  I repeatedly cursed the Lord’s name right in his own parking lot.  My step dad was already half way across the parking lot, and as soon as he heard the blasphemous screams he ran back towards me.  He held the only key to unlock the door.  It seemed like ages, but finally I was free…and my hand was a bloody mess.  I ran towards the church restroom with my stepdad and brother running after me.  When I reached the restroom I turned the water on full blast to wash my hand off.  The blood just kept flowing, so I couldn’t really tell the full extent of the damage.  I grabbed  a bunch of paper towels, and covered my hand.  We went to see my mother inside to tell her what happened.  My mother, upon seeing the bloody paper towels told us to go straight to the emergency room.  Upon arriving at the emergency room my stepdad asked the receptionist to see a doctor.  The receptionist calmly told him to wait, and a doctor would be available shortly.  This angered me.  I walked right up to the receptionist, pulled the paper towel off of my hand, stuck it in her face, and said “I want to see a doctor now!”  Without hesitation she took me to see the doctor.  The doctor took my hand and stuffed it into a vat of brownish red liquid, and told me that it should help to clot the blood.  This process took quite a while the doctor noted, and once it finally started to work he uttered the phrase, “Uh-oh.  That’s no good.”  Always exactly what you want to hear from a doctor.  The bone was exposed almost completely and quite broken.  The skin was hanging ever so lightly by a thread.  The doctor then loaded me up with shots: some in my finger, some in my arm, and a couple right in the backside.   And boy…those really hurt.  The next part was hazy.  I just remember coming to and most of the fingers on my left hand we held together by gauze and a large metal splint.  All I could think was I’m going to be playing slide guitar for a while.  So I missed the funeral.  My finger ended up mending well.  I had two fingernails on top of one another for a few years, but they eventually became one.  I never really figured out whether or not my brother meant to slam the door on me or not, but I have come to terms with not knowing.  All I know is my uncle was a good man.  I may have not been able to witness his funeral first hand, but every time I smell fresh pine on the trail or hear a birds song coming from somewhere in the trees I have all the closure I need.