Goodbye to Superman: Take Your Baby, Darling.

My earliest memory is standing on my Mimi's bed at two years old, raising my little arms toward my Aunt Charlotte and declaring, "Take your baby, darling."

I have no idea why I said it. My Aunt Charlotte loves to tell that story; somehow that moment has stayed. Perhaps because it's a memory or perhaps it's because Aunt Charlotte told others the story, always saying I was the cutest on the planet.

Not far behind it is another memory. Riding down the hallway on Uncle Bill's shoulders while he pretended my head was about to hit the doorframe. At the last second he'd duck down, laughing while I squealed somewhere between terror and delight.

That was Uncle Bill.

Part trickster. Part storyteller. Part larger-than-life character. And from my earliest memories, he was my Superman.

If I shared every story, we'd be here for days. There were rides in his shiny blue Corvette, campfires that seemed to stretch into forever, barbecue competitions, loud music, motorcycles, laughter, and enough family stories to fill several books.

Uncle Bill was the founder of Blue's Hog Barbecue Sauce, a name recognized around barbecue circles across the country. He was proud of what he built, and he should have been. But this story isn't really about barbecue sauce.

It's about love.

It's about loss.

And it's about what happens when the people we admire most become human before our eyes.

Goodbye to Superman and the Reality of Growing Older

As children, we see certain people as invincible.

They are larger than life.

They always know what to do.

They make us feel safe.

For me, Uncle Bill was one of those people. Alongside my grandmother's, grandfather's, and other colorful personalities in my family, he helped create moments of safety and joy during a childhood that wasn't always easy.

The older I became, the more I realized that even superheroes grow older.

Even Superman gets tired.

Goodbye to Superman and the Responsibility of Love

In the summer of 2021, I received a call from a hospital social worker in Missouri.

Uncle Bill needed help. He had no one available to pick him up and nowhere else to go.

Without much hesitation, my husband Jay Wade and I drove 920 miles to bring him home to Georgia. For a brief period, he lived with us.

We laughed.

We talked.

We took road trips.

We shared memories.

I thought we had more time. Life had other plans.

When Goodbye to Superman Becomes Real

After returning to Missouri, Uncle Bill's health declined rapidly. There were hospital stays, difficult decisions, unanswered phone calls, heartbreak, and moments that still hurt to revisit. I made a second 920-mile drive to Missouri because love sometimes looks like showing up when things are messy.

Not when they're easy.

Not when they're convenient.

When they're hard.

When they're exhausting.

When your heart already knows the ending might not be the one you're hoping for.

One of the last things he ever said to me was: "Cat, I have so much left to do."

I suspect many of us will feel that way when our time comes.

There is always one more dream.

One more conversation.

One more project.

One more person we wanted to help.

The Lessons Hidden Inside Goodbye to Superman

There were disappointments. There were family dynamics that still sting. There were people who disappeared when responsibility arrived. There were moments that tested my patience, my compassion, and my understanding of what family truly means.

Yet when I look back, those aren't the memories that matter most.

The memories that remain are the road trips. The stories. The laughter. The lessons. The knowledge that when he needed someone, I showed up.

And perhaps that matters more than anything else.

The Final Lesson from Goodbye to Superman

My Superman left this world on November 4, 2021.

Goodbye to Superman.

When the phone rang that morning, I already knew what I was about to hear. No amount of preparation makes that call easier. No amount of love makes goodbye painless. But love does make it meaningful.

If this story has a lesson, it's a simple one.

Tell people you love them while they're here.

Help family when they're struggling.

Show up when it's inconvenient.

Show up when it's difficult.

Show up anyway.

Because in the end, even Superman leaves his cape behind. The love doesn't.

A'ho Daw'kee - Namaste

— Cat V