Help Me Lay My Uncle Jim to Rest

Uncle Jim never had much. He didn’t own a house or a car. Most nights, he slept wherever someone would let him, on a couch, a floor, or in the homeless camp behind the Hope Center in Lexington. But what he did have, he shared without hesitation.

When my mother went to jail and I suddenly had nowhere to go, it was Uncle Jim who showed up. He didn’t have his own home to bring me to, but he had a heart big enough to make anywhere feel like one.

He made sure I got to school every morning, no matter where we had spent the night. He believed that education was the one thing that could change my life. I can still hear him saying, “You’ve got to go to skooo,” in his slow, teasing drawl.

After school, we’d start searching for food. He knew where the Meals on Wheels truck parked and when the Hope Center would serve dinner.

When I needed clothes, Jim waited until Goodwill closed and climbed into the donation bins to find things that would fit me. If he found toys or books, he’d tuck them away, proud to surprise me later. He could make a game out of anything and a good memory out of nothing.

Even with so little, he never complained. He told jokes, showed me card tricks, and taught me how to stretch a dollar until it begged for mercy. He found beauty in the small things: the warmth of a free meal, the luck of finding a working lighter, the 25 cents dropped under a vending machine.

To the world, Jim was just another man on the margins. But to me, he was the most selfless person I’ve ever known. He taught me that you can be rich in kindness even when you are poor in everything else.

Years later, life took us in different directions.

to be honest, I was afraid to reach out. I didn’t want my last memory of Jim to be one where dementia had robbed us of our memories together.

But, I called the hospitals and coroners office every few months to make sure someone had my number.

Yesterday, that call finally came.

Uncle Jim passed away.

He had no money, no possessions to claim. But he left behind something much more meaningful: a legacy of love, resourcefulness, and resilience.

Now, I want to give him the dignity he never asked for but always deserved. I want him to have a proper farewell, not an unmarked cremation by the state.

The truth is, times are hard. Between the cost of living, bills, and everyday expenses, I can’t do it alone. That’s why I’m asking for help.

If you can contribute toward giving Uncle Jim a respectful service and final resting place it would really help.

If you prefer to not use Go Fund Me, you can contact Bowling Funeral Home in London, KY directly to contribute.

And if you can’t give financially, I understand.

But, the next time you pass someone standing on a corner asking for change, please hand them a dollar and think of Jim.

He would have done the same for you.

Thank you for helping me honor a man who had nothing but gave everything. ❤️