Reflections

I know, how presumptuous of me to fall off the face of the planet in October and not say a word for over two months! It could be argued that several posts should have come out of the whole getting married thing or at least one for Christmas. What can I say, I got a little wrapped up in things and I'm still learning how to breath [and sleep properly] again.

Anyway, that's not what's brought me back tonight. I received a call from my dad about half and hour ago to tell me that my Uncle Bob, my dad's older brother, died in his sleep last night.

Did you feel that? The stifling silence of shock and disbelief that those of you who have had close family members pass on may be able to recall at hearing the news. I couldn't believe what I was being told and, to a certain extent, I'm still not sure I believe it. The only family members that have died before have been ones that I didn't know or hadn't seen in years and I've never had someone closer than my grandmother die during my life-time.

Bob lived with the youngest brother [Jim] who has never been married either, in the home they grew up in about 45 minutes away from my house. Since all of my mom's family lived at least, but generally more than] 11 hours away, we saw quite a bit of my uncles growing up at various Buhler get-togethers [namely holidays] and on days when they would baby-sit us.

A sad fact: I was never close to Bob.

Bob was the kind of uncle that was 1 part intimidating and 2 parts amusing. He wasn't much older than my dad but he always seemed like a bit of an old coot to me. On days when my parents were out of state and he was the one to watch us for the day we'd hardly ever see him. You only knew he was there by the sound of the vacuum coming from the basement and my dad's word-working area. Every once in a while he'd come upstairs for a drink or to make sure we hadn't burned down the rest of the house and he'd give us all a 5 minute lecture about how we were all going to get black lung and die because of the amount of sawdust my father allowed to sit piled up on the basement floor. We thought he was crazy and, as kids are apt to do, would giggle about it once he'd disappeared back downstairs in his personal quest to remove all traces of sawdust from the premises. I don't think we ever asked him if he'd like to watch a show with us or play a game.

It seems like all the things I know about my uncle happened before I was born or at least before I was old enough to remember. He worked as a trucker for years, crisscrossing the country time and time again. On occasion, he would slide a remark into a conversation about certain places he'd been and seen if people were discussing them. He also seemed to have quite a thing for motorcycles, something he and his brothers shared, and he had an accident when I was very young that made it so he never rode again. He and Jim kept up their parents' house and the small garden [they grew rhubarb] between the garage and the fence that separated their property from the neighbors who gave us creamsicles when we were visiting one summer.

The things that I knew Bob best for were his smoking habit, his small dinner-table tirades about various government corruptions, and falling asleep after dinner every Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve without fail. The way he'd stand in doorways, having just trailed in from a cigarette break, made him look like a character from Grease even though high school was far behind him.

I'm looking back tonight and seeing all the gaps in our relationship, all the places when I could have made an effort to get to know him, give him someone to talk to. Having an understanding of what will happen after this life doesn't much lessen the pangs of regret you can feel, the chagrin of being one of those people who assume someone will be around forever and, some day, you'll get around to thanking them, appreciating them.

Bob died of some kind of neurological dysfunction that has made its presence known before in my dad's family. That he died in his sleep, I am grateful beyond words. That I hadn't seen or spoken to him in over a year, the term remiss doesn't come close. There were a few things that came to mind as I initially heard the news.

One: He never got his thank you card for his wedding present to Tim and I [we've been waiting on pictures from our photographer and so haven't sent them yet].

Two: Was he happy?

The very little I knew about him and the way his life was during most of mine always made me think that he must be very bored and at least somewhat unsatisfied with the way things had turned out what with never being married and not having a job to keep busy with and all. But a child's perception of other people's lives are always simplistic and idealistic. For all I know, he never wanted to have a family and he didn't mind terribly about the way things had happened. I wish I knew. I hope he was.

So, Uncle Bob, I hope you'll forgive a niece who didn't take the time to know you and I hope you'll let me try when we meet again. Until then, rest peacefully. I know you're being taken care of.