He was my uncle.

«Concerto for Mother in Wrath and Orchestra» - with this repartee, my uncle Claude, then a teenager, undermined the righteous fury of his mother. Taken by surprise, she could not help laughing in the midst of her legitimate vehemence. Already at this age, he used to deliver his spiritual replies with great seriousness.

The memories of my uncle and his family are connected to several towns throughout France – they often moved due to professional transfers. We would go and see them for a weekend or a week and it would always be a special time – those days are now among my best childhood memories. My uncle has been, along my father, the man I most admired while growing up.

The last time I saw him was in 2005, when I defended my Master dissertation at the Theological Institute of Paris. I felt so supported by my family and my friends that day. I was touched by his and my aunt presences and their interest for my subject.

During those last years, I knew he was not well. I found out last August how serious this illness was. I was on my way to the session of First Pres, the church where I interned this summer. The meeting ends with a time of intercessory prayer. I requested prayers for my uncle Claude. When the prayer followed I was overwhelmed with sorrow. When the prayer ended, the elders acted no differently than French associates would have: they were kind and thoughtful, and pretended not noticing any trace of emotion on my face. They encouraged me for the coming ordination exams that were to come a few days later. When I got into my car, I even thought “I hope they don’t think I was crying because of those exams…”

My uncle died on Tuesday morning. On the last conversation he had with his sister, my mom, he was holding the picture of one of his grandchildren and he was describing it to her, in what of those phone calls they had where they would chat as if they had just met the day before.

His name was Claude Giordan. He was my uncle.