Uncle Al with daughter Keli
My uncle Al passed away on February 14th. He had been sick with lung cancer for a couple years, he fought HARD until the end, and as a result of this, I have been asking myself questions. I am not religious, but I so hope that the end isn’t the hard truth that science gives us. This has been a time of reflection, not only on his life, but on my own beliefs. I’ve stalled on my gym attendance and my social outings, as a low-grade depression has come over me. I know my mind is searching for answers to the questions I have always had about death and dying, and the motivation will return to me when I figure something out, or at least find a temporarily satisfying explanation until I begin to question things again. This will be a long post, but I hope you will read it all and give your opinions in the comments.
I learned some things about uncle Al that I didn’t know about him while he was alive, like that he was born premature and the doctors didn’t think he would make it. I learned that he broke his leg pretty badly, and once again, doctors didn’t think he would survive it. His father went out on a fishing trip that uncle Al REALLY wanted to join him on, and his father drowned on that trip. Uncle Al probably would have, too, had he been there. So, to say that the man really wanted to stay here with us is an understatement. Now, I will share with you what I DID know about him.
Uncle Al owned a doughnut shop in Pennsylvania. I went there as a child, probably a few times, but I only remember once. I don’t know how old I was, but I was pretty young, and I remember running past a mixer and being completely fascinated by it. Not sure why, apparently I am easily fascinated, but that’s what I remember. I remember the smell of the shop. I don’t eat a lot of doughnuts these days (yeah, I am trying to live cleaner), but I know that any time I step foot in a doughnut shop, he will be the first person I think of. He had quit smoking some time ago, but I will always remember the smell of pipe smoke around him. I was at the funeral service thinking to myself, “uncle Al, if you ever want to get a hold of me, send me some pipe smoke.”
If uncle Al had a beverage in his hand, it was hot tea or a rum and Coke. I haven’t been out to a bar since the funeral, but when I do, my first drink will be a rum and Coke. I mixed him one once at a family Christmas party and he said he liked the way I mixed them because I made ’em strong. I laughed. I have no idea if he was serious or if he was just politely telling me that I needed to tone down the alcohol, but either way, his laugh was infectious and I will miss it dearly.
Uncle Al never missed a family function. Family was his biggest priority, and honestly, he is an inspiration to me in that
Uncle Al and Aunt Dee, best buds
respect. Everyone is always so busy with their things and their whatnots, and we often find ourselves sitting at funerals thinking “if only I had visited more”, or “if only I had called them to chat more”. I am so glad that I was able to go visit him the Thursday before he passed. I am glad that he knew that I was there for him, I am glad that I saw him once more. My aunt Donna and I went to visit him while he was in rehabilitation after he had a trache put in, we played cards with him, his two daughters, sons in law, and his granddaughter and her fiance. Bob cheated, Evan tried to cheat, too, I had not idea how to play and winged it for most of the game (still won, though), and we had such a fun time. I don’t want to remember him sick, but I will still cherish that memory. I am glad to know that he knew that I was there. Is it sick that I wish that I had taken photos of him that night? I mean, I’m sure he would have protested anyway, but I think if I had taken a few photos of him, I could look back on those photos and remind myself of his strength, still laughing and yucking it up while he was on oxygen. Every ounce of his being wanting to kick that cancer and get back to life. I know I would gain strength from that, because he just resonated with it. Of course I would prefer to remember him not sick, but thinking of the opportunities to capture his love of life and family, right up until the end, that is the kind of soul that every photographer wants to capture in their work.
Darts
Uncle Al was an avid fisherman and hunter. He loved the outdoors. I wish I had the patience it takes to do either of those activities (not that I would do either, but I would love to have that amount of patience). He had always been an all around patient guy. I don’t think I have ever seen him get angry or frustrated. He took the world in stride. Me? Not even close. I get into a screaming fit every time someone cuts me off on the highway. If I can take a lesson from his demeanor, I need to take that lesson. He was always gentle and kind, never had a bad word to say about anyone, and was always willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt.
I wanted to leave a small bottle of rum and a Coke in his casket. I’m sure no one would have minded, but something held me back. Something always holds me back. Yet another lesson to be learned from uncle Al. He never held anything back. If he wanted to tell you something, it came out. No holds barred. One of his best qualities, arguably, was his ability to tell you that you messed up in the most patient, tactful, and FUNNY way possible. The man was HILARIOUS. He could have the whole crowd laughing in a matter of minutes.
Uncle Al was a charmer. Every wedding we had, he would be surrounded with ladies. He just had a way about him. He was
Uncle Al, wedding professional
also the garter belt magnet. I am pretty sure I have never attended a wedding in which he didn’t catch the garter belt. I’m fairly certain he strategically planned these things! Nothing will ever be the same without him there, without his laugh, without his wit, but I will especially miss him at weddings. He was a pro at weddings! He had the kindest eyes, eyes that told you stories. He was one of those people that hung on your every word until you were finished talking. You could always tell, too, because he had this funny way of mouthing the words you were saying while you were saying them. I always wanted to ask him why he did that, or better yet, HOW he did that… it was almost as though he knew what you were going to say even before you said it. Probably because he paid so much attention to you, that he probably DID know you better than you thought he did, hell, probably better than you knew yourself sometimes. Someday I will find out why he mouthed along with you, but for now, that is one of those traits about him that always secretly fascinated me.
He lived with my grandparents for a long time, helping to care for my grandma as she slipped further and further into dementia. He would help my pappaps care for her, and they would talk, and I am sure they shared moments together while my pappaps struggled to understand what was happening to his wife. They became closer and closer, best friends. Watching my pappaps cry for his friend when we went to visit Al that Thursday before he died was one of the hardest things I have ever seen. All I could do was hold my pappaps while he cried. My dad told me that was all he needed me to do, but I wish there was anything I could have done or said to change it, to have uncle Al here with us, to make both of their pains go away. I’m sure that is a completely normal reaction to seeing two of the strongest men you know, both in such weak and vulnerable states. It tore me apart to see Al sick and pappaps so upset. All I can do is wish things, but I wish my grandma had been cognizant enough to say good bye to him. I wish she hadn’t gotten sick. I wish he hadn’t gotten sick. I wish we were all younger and things were the way they were when I was a teenager and I thought everyone in my life was invincible. Sadly, life is more fragile than we give credit for when we are young.
As I said, I wanted to leave a rum and coke for him, but I didn’t. I was sitting at the funeral service, hearing all the wonderful stories about him, and I kept my gaze on the balled up tissue in my hand. I had been staring at that tissue for the bulk of the service when it suddenly dawned on me that I had to put a little piece of me in the casket with him. I had worn my PuraVida
Anchors Aweigh
anchor bracelet that day, my favorite bracelet. As I stared at the tissue, the bracelet suddenly came into my view like a shining star and I thought, “well, hell. Why don’t I leave him my bracelet?” it is the perfect bracelet for a fisherman like him, with the golden anchor and rope. I figured, I would just go home and order another one, that way we could both have one. Hell, just a week after the service I got an email that PuraVida had put my bracelet on sale for half off! What are the odds, right? Well, I got that order out right away and I expect my new bracelet in a few days! I hadn’t even had the thing for very long, but it was my favorite little trinket, and I knew, had he seen it, he would have mentioned the anchor. I mean, he loved fishing, he loved the water. Furthermore, at least for me, the anchor meant a lot more than just fishing symbolism, it meant safety, it meant steadiness. I don’t have religion, I don’t know what I believe happens once we die, I know what I HOPE happens. I know what I don’t believe happens. I hope we reincarnate into another life somewhere and our souls just keep on going. I hope this isn’t the last time my soul will walk the earth, even if it is in a different vessel. I hope that someday I will meet Uncle Al again, though I don’t believe in a heaven or a hell, I hope someday when I am an old lady, I will see a young man in a store or on the sidewalk, and I will smile at him and say hello, and he will laugh an infectious laugh and it will be him, in another vessel. We probably wouldn’t recognize each other, and that’s fine. But our souls met again and everything was good.
Anchors Aweigh means that the anchor is clear of the sea bottom and the ship is officially underway. It seemed fitting to me to bid uncle Al anchors aweigh versus “good bye”, as I do hope that his soul was set free to a new adventure, that his anchor, the only thing holding him here, his body, is clear of this Earth and his soul is officially underway. I would like to hope that he gave me this revelation. I would love to think that he was sitting there with me, checking out the turnout for his memorial service, laughing along with the stories being told about him and the memories shared, and his soul whispered to me, “hey Melissa, this isn’t goodbye. You will see me again, in a healthy body, cancer and pain free. So, this is anchors aweigh, never goodbye.”
Uncle Al and Uncle Sam
Anchors Aweigh, Uncle Al. Until we meet again…
phuktneurotic 