Uncle Eric

Eric Raymond Johnson

Born: January 18^th 1965
Died: February 25^th 2015

Putting my fingers to the keys, I’m at first just tapping away without any words forming. I’m not sure I can do this…I've thought about doing this for four days now…ever since that call…that call from my mother that I almost didn't take because it was late, I was tired, and my husband had just gotten home from his long day away and we were still just catching up. But I answered.

Some deaths you see coming from miles away, my grandmamma’s, my dad’s, my husband’s grandma’s, and no matter how hard you wish them to not happen, you know it’s inevitable not only will this happen, this actually is happening. You have time, even if it’s a month, a week, a year, you have time.

Other deaths you don’t see coming – my husband has an old co-worker he knew. Young, in shape, active, baby on the way. One day he’s posting on Facebook, the next day people are posting tributes on Facebook about him.

Then there’s a third kind (I’m sure there’s others I just haven’t experienced). The kind where you don’t expect it and it is sudden, but somehow you’re not quite surprised by it. You’re still devastated by it, and your entire world has changed, but looking back you’re surprised that you were surprised. Which then leaves you even more depressed. If you weren't that surprised, why didn't you do more while he was alive? Why didn't you reach out, call, visit while you could?

My mom’s phone call last Wednesday night was about her brother, Eric. She has three siblings (she’s the oldest). My mom, her sister, Eric, and their younger brother. My Uncle Eric had struggled for years with his weight (like many of us do, myself included) and more recently, with diabetes. However, even after being diagnosed with diabetes he struggled with maintaining a healthy diet. Not just does healthy food cost more money, medication does too, and my uncle lived on social security and odd jobs, and hey, he liked his pizza and diet cokes.

My uncle was born in Los Angeles County or Orange County, California. Was hard to keep track of where, his mother, my grandmother, had a hard time settling down in one spot. When he was nine, my grandmother moved her family of four from California to Phoenix, Arizona. From his childhood, Eric was interested in flight, be in airplanes, or even people – when he was eight he had enough of an imagination and belief he could fly, he pretended to be Mary Poppins, flying off the roof of the house (he ended up breaking his arm instead) but that interest in flight remained.

After Eric’s high school graduation, as many young adults do, he bounced around a bit. Tried out an Aeronautical university and ROTC until he decided it wasn't for him. Eventually he made his way to Portland, Oregon to visit his sister (my mom) and his brother in law (my dad) and their family, both my brother and I were already born at the time – he came up around 1986. While in Oregon he fell in love with the state that was so disparate from Arizona. Instead of dry barren mountains and long flat deserts Oregon has green, lush valleys, trees everywhere and rivers, lakes and puddles year round. So, like many young kids, he decided since it was a new experience, he’d treat it like the new adventure it was and stay awhile.

Realizing that in order to stay he’d need a job, Eric got on with a construction crew, eventually manning the big Cats. Man, he loved those things so much that I remember he got my brother and me (or was it just my brother?) some toy Cats once for a birthday so we could help be a part of things and build too. He loved that his job was being a part of something greater than himself in helping build things. Eric was so proud of being part of the crew that built the Convention Center in Portland.

My uncle is a large part of why I never grew up thinking of “extended” family and then “immediate” family or “mom’s” family and “dad’s” family. Growing up, family was just Family. Uncle Eric came on some memorable family vacations with us, notably Expo 86 up in Vancouver, British Columbia. Wow, what a trip. I was  probably five, which would have left my brother a baby…we had some good times. No, I don’t remember much, but I do remember that. Steckmann family Thanksgivings and Christmases, my uncle was always included and often joined us. He loved my grandmamma and they’d often spend hours talking together. My uncle and my dad would have some great philosophical and theological discussions, sometimes they would even get heated, as passionate people are, well, passionate. But they were always family.

In 95 my family moved to the Czech Republic but that didn't stop my uncle. He came to visit us in July of 1998. He soaked in the different culture and experiences and, yes, talked the most with the construction crews he ran into.

I’m not sure when it started, but there’s never been a time I don't remember him when he wasn't rebuilding/restoring hovercrafts. Eric was The Hovercraft Man. OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) even had one of his hovercrafts on display in the 90’s and a news station did a story on him and the hovercraft hobby. All of his passion for tinkering with anything mechanical, anything that could fly went into that hobby. Still, he had time to help friends and family tinker on their machines as well, and tinker with computers and run websites for friends and family. His love of flying never faded, I remember many an airshow with my uncle explaining what each aircraft was, and what it was that made that particular aircraft special.

I remember one birthday I had, right before we moved to Czech where he took me out to breakfast and gave me a bit of money, but insisted I spend it that day, with him. He wouldn't let me just save it for later, he wanted to me to have something special from that day, something he knew I’d enjoy. His enjoyment came from both spending time with me, and watching me, 15 years old get enjoyment from shopping without having to think about “saving for later”. My uncle loved doing things like that and just simply spending time with the people he loved.

The years passed, my grandmamma died (my dad’s mom), then later my grandmother died and then my dad. All of these deaths hit my uncle pretty hard. His family, his support system, was fading away. Later, after my dad’s death, my mom remarried and moved to Northern Idaho, my brother moved away and came back a couple times before marrying and then moving away again. I eventually moved away as well. My dad’s oldest brother, an elder in his church spent time with him, and even when Eric’s “immediate” family in Portland wasn’t there to go to the Steckmann family gatherings, Eric, a part of the “greater” Family for 20+ years was welcome.

Flying Pie Pizza in Milwaukie is the last time I remember seeing him, talking to him and giving him a hug goodbye. I don’t even remember when it was. How I wish I could change that. I got that call from my mom; she was in tears and could barely speak. Her baby brother, Eric had passed, gently into that good night. I hadn't heard her so devastated since my dad died, and I’m not sure she was even that just unequivocally overcome. My dad’s death was coming, we all knew that. My uncle’s, however much we can look back and say, “I should have seen that coming” and be unsurprised, you can still never go back and get in that one final goodbye. You can never tell him over and over that you love him, that he’s had a huge impact on your life, never give them those hugs, hundreds spaced over months, never squeeze that hand again. Never see that smile that spreads to his eyes or even the scowl because he thinks you’re taping the brakes too much and you’ll burn out the brake lights. Never kiss him on his whisked cheek again and whisper “I love you, Uncle Eric.”

While there are three different “kinds” of deaths, the ones you see coming from miles away, the ones you don’t, and the ones you think you should have – in the end, however it happened, the soul you loved is gone and you’re left with regrets and memories. And knowing while your world is turned upside down, they are finally at peace.