Yesterday my uncle passed away in Ferriday, Louisiana.
Louis Evans. We called him Mane.
After spending seven months suspended in a strange state
that balanced between unconsciousness and slight recognition of the outside
world, his body and spirit became one.
He became free. I am deeply hurt and saddened, but at peace
with what the universe has decided.
Mane was what you call a man’s man. They don’t make them like him anymore. Mane spent his life working long, hard hours in mills, plants, and on
labor sites to provide for his family and embodying what it means to be a “real
man.”
He was not a rich man in terms of cash flow. He was, however,
rich in creativity, pride, and love for his family.
Mane was a self-taught artist who created amazing drawings and sculptures. Without spending one day in an art class learning about symmetry, lines, lighting, color palettes, or how greats like Van Gogh did it, he created works of art from a god-given innate talent and ability.
Mane was a simple man who could be made happy with his
favorite music and movies, and travels down memory lane after a good meal.
Curtis Mayfield was one of my uncle’s favorite musicians. My fondest memories of him include his joy when his sister—my mom—would visit and bring along his favorite cassette tapes and VHS recordings of musical performances.
He’d sit in his rocking chair and rock and nod his head and
tap his fingers to the beat on the chair arm.
I loved my uncle. I miss my uncle. I wish he could have seen
so much more of this world.
He spent his entire life in Ferriday and dreamed of one day
getting on an airplane and seeing what existed outside of it.
My mother and I had plans to make that happen for him.
He deserved to see and do the things that so many of us take
for granted.
Mane, you were the closest thing I had to a dad. I love you
and long for more years with you.
But I know you’re free now. In so many ways.
Your time on this earth will not be forgotten.
