Today I learned that my uncle, David Hudson, lost his battle with ALS. It is no secret that I do not deal with emotional issues well, so it is probably not surprising that instead of talking about how I felt, I learned the hormone pathways that cause us to cry in response to emotional stimuli. That information was fascinating to learn and provided a temporary distraction, but it did nothing to calm my aching heart. I'm usually the type of person that needs to process things like this by thinking them through logically or talking them out. Neither of those avenues seem particularly satisfying right now so I decided to write about the many ways that David positively affected my life.
When I was very young, I wasn't aware that I had an uncle named David. (actually, I still don't. He's my Dad's cousin but it was easier to call him Uncle David than second-cousin-once-removed David, but I digress...) When I was in third grade, my family moved into the same ward as David and Donna. We always sat in the row in front of them and David would bring treats to keep us quiet.
As I grew older, David started to take on a more influential role in my life. Just about every Sunday that I can remember, he would wrap his arm around me in church and tell me how pretty I was. For an impressionable young girl with self-esteem issues, this simple act gave me a much needed weekly boost.
Getting older still, David became my Sunday school teacher. It was in those few years that I had my eyes opened to new ways to view the gospel. David would talk about his indiscretions as a younger man, and how they had a huge impact on the rest of his life. He spoke often about the atonement, explaining that it was what got him through the difficult times in his life, and how it could work for us too. He also helped me to understand that mistakes are nothing to be ashamed of - everyone makes them. The only shame would be found in choosing not to learn from them.
After I left for college, my chances to see David were limited. However, those times that I did go to my parents' ward, I always knew that he and Donna would be there, fourth row from the back, strong as always. I also knew that if it was fast Sunday, I would likely get to hear a humbly spoken, thoughtful testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ from one or both of them.
When I learned that David had ALS, I was heartbroken. Not too long before that, I had learned in a Biology class the devastating effects ALS has on the human body. I remember comparing my thoughts when I was learning about ALS (relatively cold, analytical, logical) to the thoughts I had about it after (emotional, sad, etc.) ALS devastates the bodies of its victims, often rendering them unable to breathe on their own in less than two years. When asked about how he was doing, David would often respond that he was ready to die; that he knew the Lord had a plan for his life, and that the atonement was real. I always found it interesting that a person who was obviously so physically weak could still appear so strong and stoic.
I remember the last time that I saw David. It was Christmas day, 2011. It was a Sunday. His wife was speaking in church, so we sat with him. Not on the side where I was used to, but dead center of the chapel, in the middle of the row. I sat next to him and started to make small talk. He smiled at me, and told me that the Lord had blessed him with time for his family, but that he didn't have time for small talk. He asked me about my future plans and gave sage advice that will likely direct all of the major life choices that I make in the future. During his wife's talk, David leaned over and through tear-filled eyes, told me that she was the one who kept him straight all of those years. He told me she was the best thing that ever happened to him. He also told me to choose wisely the person that I would commit to spend eternity with. "Pick someone who loves you, loves the gospel, and the Lord. And by all means make sure that he can make you laugh!"
Later on in the meeting, the ward choir preformed. It was quite possibly the worst display of musical talent I had ever witnessed. I leaned over to make a snide comment, hoping to be met with a little chuckle or a teeny smile. I was surprised, then humbled when I was instead met with censure. "I can't talk like that anymore," he said, "I might not have time to repent for it." He smiled and directed his attention back to the choir. Interestingly enough, they didn't sound nearly as bad after that. When the meeting came to a close, David wrapped his arm around my shoulder and whispered in my ear, as he had so many times before, that I was a beautiful, strong woman, and that he was proud of the person I had become. I didn't know it then, but those were the last words that he would ever speak to me in my lifetime.
David may have moved on from this life, but the lessons he taught me and the example that he was will remain a legacy in my life, and in the lives of others for years to come.I hope that one day I'll be able to touch someone's life in the way that he has touched mine. I'm sending out positive thoughts and prayers to my family, especially my aunt Donna, as they go through this difficult time.
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