Moses Locatee Moody, III (Bill)
September 6, 1952 - June 15, 2010
I suppose my deepest regret was that I did not know him better and we lived 2 hours away! What's that about. My fondest memories of him are all of his humor, wit and generosity. Uncle Bill would always send us cards on our birthdays and Christmas and address them as "Master" or "Madame." We always looked forward to those letters... And the visits! They were as random as they come, but welcoming, just the same. Literally, we would find out he was coming within a hour before him showing up at the doorstep. My cousin Colleen could attest...she said he'd even do that when visiting Lynchburg. He always had great stories from their childhood and from present day. I loved listening to him talk. Pretty sad that he was always the one that had to take that initiative...
The funeral was hard. So much harder than I had imagined. All of the memories and regrets of time lost came flooding over me all at once. Particularly when reading this poem my sister wrote:
Why cakes don’t fall (In Tribute to my Uncle Bill) 06/17/10
Eggs, water, oil, and a simple cake mix. Time, patience, care and a little love; memories stirred and memories bound. It is forever these moments that will cake my mind like batter coating a pan.
Warmest on a cold blustery day, come birthdays and such, when being called madam or master was such a treat. A card had come addressed just to me, like I was so special, like I was being honored.
A tear slides down my cheek.
His smiles always lit up a room, with a careless wit that was somehow flippant at times but was always genuine.
And there sits my cake, mixed and poured, filling the pan, it has bubbles. So as I have been taught, and as my mother was taught by her baby brother, I gently tap, tap, and tap, till the bubbles rise to the surface.
My heart begins to ache for all the missed moments.
As the bubbles rise I realize that, his face has come to mind, his smile, his mannerisms, and his rough laughter.
His hugs, those were so warm even though, he was always so thin. Yet he could wrap you in care with one of those hugs no matter how many years it had been.
I wipe cascading tears with the palms of my hands
The bubbles have dissipated and the cake is oven ready, my tears have mixed with the batter but I don’t want to discard the cake. I wait while I watch stories and memories that float past my mind’s eye.
I watched him from a distance, so strong, confident, such a caring father, devoted son.
As the cake slides from the oven, perfect, as it has been so many times before. A glossy surface, perfectly springing back.
I watch the cake. Wanting all the memories that flood me, knowing how I’ll miss the hugs, the crossed leg, how wise a face he had. All the things he’d seen, experienced, loved, know, carved into that face.
I think the cake has captured me, twenty minutes has gone by and I have not moved. And as that perfect cake lay upon the counter, I know that every cake will have a piece of him in it for the rest of my life.
The tears have stopped but the ache remains.
Eggs, water, oil, and a simple cake mix. Time, patience, care and a little love; memories stirred and memories bound. It is forever these moments that will cake my mind like batter coating a pan.
Warmest on a cold blustery day, come birthdays and such, when being called madam or master was such a treat. A card had come addressed just to me, like I was so special, like I was being honored.
A tear slides down my cheek.
His smiles always lit up a room, with a careless wit that was somehow flippant at times but was always genuine.
And there sits my cake, mixed and poured, filling the pan, it has bubbles. So as I have been taught, and as my mother was taught by her baby brother, I gently tap, tap, and tap, till the bubbles rise to the surface.
My heart begins to ache for all the missed moments.
As the bubbles rise I realize that, his face has come to mind, his smile, his mannerisms, and his rough laughter.
His hugs, those were so warm even though, he was always so thin. Yet he could wrap you in care with one of those hugs no matter how many years it had been.
I wipe cascading tears with the palms of my hands
The bubbles have dissipated and the cake is oven ready, my tears have mixed with the batter but I don’t want to discard the cake. I wait while I watch stories and memories that float past my mind’s eye.
I watched him from a distance, so strong, confident, such a caring father, devoted son.
As the cake slides from the oven, perfect, as it has been so many times before. A glossy surface, perfectly springing back.
I watch the cake. Wanting all the memories that flood me, knowing how I’ll miss the hugs, the crossed leg, how wise a face he had. All the things he’d seen, experienced, loved, know, carved into that face.
I think the cake has captured me, twenty minutes has gone by and I have not moved. And as that perfect cake lay upon the counter, I know that every cake will have a piece of him in it for the rest of my life.
The tears have stopped but the ache remains.
We love you Uncle Bill. Thank you for always keeping in touch...thank you for always making us smile. You are dearly missed.
