The Phoenix Rises

I have a lot of relatives close to me, the closest being my parents. But other than that, someone who was extremely close to me was my uncle Ken. He wasn't my uncle by blood; he was by dad's brother's wife's brother. Simply put, my dad's brother, my uncle Tim, married my Aunt Deb, and Aunt Deb's brother is Uncle Ken.

Uncle Ken was an amazing man, from the moment he came into my life, until the day he passed away in May of 2005.

Kenneth Lyvelle Sellers was born on December 16, 1948 in Huntington, Indiana. Little did he know that someday he would forever change the lives of everyone he came into contact with.

A proud server in the Marines, Ken began work as a construction worker. In 1990, he experienced a fall from a building and suffered severe brain damage, leaving him mentally handicapped. The doctors gave up on him. They said he'd never come out of his coma, and that he would live the rest of his life as a vegetable. His wife gave up. His daughters gave up. But his sister Deb would sit and talk to him every day. And, thanks to a miracle, one day he awoke from the coma. He had to learn how to walk, talk, dress himself, and feed himself all over again. But he did it.

After the accident, his wife, who had been having a series of affairs, divorced Ken and sent him to a facility in Texas, but still remained his legal guardianwhich meant she still received his Social Security and Workman's Comp checks. And did she use the money for Ken's condition? No, she spent it on herself.

Ken's sisters, Deb and Yvonne, were furious. They fought for legal custody of their brotherand won.

Ken was now in the care of his loving sisters. However, Deb and Yvonne were quite angry when they found out that they were supposed to be getting Ken's checksthe money needed for his care. Instead, the checks were going to his daughters. Ken got on the phone to Social Security and asked where his money was. The woman on the other line immediately phoned one of his daughters, whose name I will not mention, and said that the checks would start going to Ken, and that she WILL send that month's check to her father. But she didn't. So she was investigated for fraud, which didn't faze her in the least. But the checks began coming to Ken each month, and was used for his food, clothing, medical treatment, and more.

Everything finally seemed to be smoothing out. Even with his mental handicap, Ken painted works of art so beautiful they would leave you breathless with awe. And he became very religious. He went to Christian Heritage Church every Sunday and was rarely ever seen without his bible.

Then, in 2004, more bad news struck: Ken was diagnosed with lung cancer. He seemed fine, going about his everyday routine. He underwent chemo treatment, which made him very sick. Finally, we got the news we'd been hoping for: he was in remission. I was very happy to hear this. Then, a few months later, we found out that the cancer had come back even worse this time and there wasn't anything the doctors could do. They gave him six months.

Toward the end, he called everyone to Deb's house, where he was living, to say that it was his time to go home to Jesus and that he would miss all of us. I took it the hardest, sobbing by the time he was done with what he had to say. I gave him a hug and whispered, "I love you, Uncle Koko."

His last Christmas we made sure was a good one. My mom and I spent the night out with them on Christmas Eve. I woke up the next morning, having hardly slept at all. Then I woke everyone else up and after some coffee, we got down to opening presents. One of my gifts was a remote control fart machine. Aunt Deb put the speaker box in the pocket of her bathrobe and every time she'd bend over, Mom would press the button on the remote, making a loud farting noise come from Aunt Deb's pocket. Every time that happened, Uncle Ken would think he did it and say, "Oh! Excuse me!" It was a fun time, filled with much laughter.

On May 3, 2005, Uncle Ken spent the whole day seeing angels. He would say to Aunt Deb that they were here to take him home soon and they were beautiful. He would talk to the angels, smile at them, and reach out to touch them.
The next morning, on May 4th, my mom came into my room and woke me up. "You don't have to go to school today," she said. "Uncle Ken passed away last night." I was happy that he was with God and didn't have to go through any more pain, but the shock and sadness hit me like a tidal wave, sweeping over my body and making it hard to breathe. I chose to go to school that day, and when I got there, I went into English class and broke down sobbing. He was really gone.

At the viewing, he looked so peaceful, like he was asleep. I made a decision. At the time I was wearing a cross made of real silver and turquoise that Mom, Aunt Deb, and Uncle Ken had bought for me in Arizona. Knowing how religious he was and how he loved crosses, I took my cross off of its chain and placed it in his hands in the coffin. That cross was buried with him. I did it because both Uncle Ken and the cross meant a lot to me, and I knew he'd love it.

The next day, at the funeral, I read a poem that I had written especially for Uncle Ken.

Before the Dawn

I remember you so clearly
I hope that you can hear me
Your body is gone
But you are still all around.

And maybe tonight
We'll fly so far away
We'll be lost before the dawn.

I dropped a tear in the ocean
The day I find it is the day I stop loving you
You're always with me
Although not physically.

And maybe tonight
We'll fly so far away
We'll be lost before the dawn.

So now all there is to do
Is sit and pray or talk to you
I know you're out of pain
And I'll see you once again.

And maybe tonight
We'll fly so far away
We'll be lost before the dawn.

And maybe tonight
We'll fly so very far away
We'll be lost before the dawn

Uncle Ken has forever changed my life for the better. He has impacted the lives of so many people, and I know that they, along with me, will never forget what he has done for us.