My Uncle

My uncle died yesterday, early morning. I woke to an email from my cousin, Neville. This was my mom’s brother, her only sibling. The similarities of mom and her brother’s paths are not lost on me. Neville moved his parents into assisted living some years ago for much the same reasons I moved my mom. They were struggling with bills. Neville, repeatedly, set up their finances so everything hit a credit card leaving his dad to pay one bill a month. His dad repeatedly undid all of his son’s hard work. Thank goodness they didn’t drive 😏. Living in a walkable city, they’d given up their car many years ago. The apartment was getting to be too much to handle. Memory problems were asserting themselves into their activities of daily living, including my uncle repeatedly calling me to ask about funeral plans for my mom (during 2020), and not being able to understand that the letters from bogus attorneys promising to settle his inheritance from my mother were pure scam. I’m sent him his inheritance months prior. His wife, duty bound, handed him the mail every day. I told her, in no uncertain terms, she needed to throw out such solicitations for her husband’s peace. I think she finally acquiesced as his frantic calls about this subject stopped. But, not before I changed his ringtone on my phone and let his calls go to voicemail. 😢.

One major difference between these elders is that my uncle and aunt made their move without resistance. It placed them very close to Neville and his partner, whereas before they were two hours away. My mom went kicking, screaming, and scheming.

Within the last 18-months or so, my uncle had to make the move to memory care. Mom never did. This could be because mom’s community had different patient markers for requiring that move, or simply that my uncle was in worse shape.

Over the years my uncle expressed regret that we hadn’t spent more time together, even calling himself a ‘bad uncle.’ I tried to dissuade him of such a notion. 3000 miles is a lot to overcome. As are careers and raising kids who are in school. I hope he let go of that negative inner-dialogue.

He sent/brought me small gifts when I was a child, usually from places he’d traveled to while on assignment as a photographer. I still have a carved wooden box with an inset lid that slides. I also have two pieces of his art that my folks had. These are suddenly much more precious than they were Thursday evening.

He supported my mom in not telling their mother about my existence until mom was ready when I was two. While he told me he got along with their mom and never really understood the estrangement, he stood by his sister’s request.

Neville and I communicated a lot before and during his parent’s move to assisted living. I’m so proud of his steadiness, strength, and goodwill. No, it wasn’t easy, and yes, he complained when he needed to. History will treat him with reverence for doing the right thing, the hard thing, the loving thing.