An Unexpected Goodbye
11/14/2014
Monday night at 11:00 PM my mother got a phone call
confirming the worst. My uncle Len had
been found deceased in his apartment.
He and my aunt Kathy had divorced roughly 20+ years ago, but
remained close and on friendly terms over the years. In spite of the divorce, they behaved as
though they were still a married couple.
He attended nearly every holiday, and every family
function. “Papaw” never missed a
birthday, or a chance to see the kids; his nieces and nephew and his great-nieces
and nephews. We were his kids, and our children were his grandchildren.
It was clear that he was fascinated by them, and let’s face
it, he couldn’t have loved them more if they were his own. Always playing with trains or cars, having
conversations, teasing and giggling right along with them.
As a child, he was my uncle Lenny. He was funny and teased
us mercilessly. He was silly and made mildly
crude jokes. They were his forte. It almost seemed our mild embarrassment was
just as much a form of entertainment to him as our laughter. I loved to have my hair in ponytail braids. He’d
hold one hand up over my head and tickle my armpit with my hair, proclaiming to
the world that I had “hairy pitts”. I
wasn’t really old enough to understand the actual embarrassment of it, in fact,
I loved the attention. It was the
tickling. What little kid doesn’t
secretly love to be tickled? I picked up
on my mother’s deep sighs of exasperation, and soon decided that maybe I was
too old for that sort of thing after all.
He nicknamed the three of us girls. My older brother Johnny already had a
nickname, “Nonny” simply because annunciation was a bit of a problem for my
sister Rebecca and I. Lisa was “Lee Bug.” Which she hated. I’m not sure why, but I was always a tad
jealous. It reminded me of a lady bug.
Rebecca was “Boo-Becca”. Boo for short. Her favorite game was peek-a-boo. She was
forever playing the game with unsuspecting victims, then running off, her
little toddler feet drowned out by the sound of her infectious giggle.
I was “Andy Dawn”. My best friend was a stuffed Raggedy Andy
Doll. Rebecca had the Ann, and I, being
the tomboy and hoping to get the attention of my older sister Lisa, took
Andy. He and I were inseparable. I would “whisper” into his ear my deepest
darkest secrets. Whispering meant
yelling loudly, since he never answered.
I thought if I kept telling him, loudly enough, he’d eventually share
his secrets.
Our nicknames still hold.
I’m 37 and I’m still Andy Dawn (well, actually Andie) to all but
Rebecca. For some reason it sounds odd
to hear her call me anything but “Ange” a shortened version of Angela. I’ve only ever been “Angie” to my grandma,
and a small handful of ladies that pull at my heartstrings just a little. It
would be a mistake to ever presume to call me “Angie” simply because I wouldn’t
answer.
Uncle Len also named his cars. It was silly, but I loved it. He had a bright green two door 1970’s model car
that he’d named “the old Frog”. Many
times we squeezed our tiny tushies into the back of that car. Once I even smashed a finger in the latch
that lifted the seat forward, as well as the passenger door. I knew deep down that he felt horrible about
that.
He also drove a late model 1960’s station wagon that had
belonged to his father that he drove for years.
He called it “Old Blue”. He ran drove them both until they didn’t run
anymore.
Uncle Lenny was one of the only father figures I ever had
growing up who actually had my best interests at heart.
My sisters and I went to live for a short time with my Aunt
Kathy and Uncle Len when I was eight. At
the time, they fostered children with developmental disabilities. My sisters and I were able to stay with my
aunt and uncle and stay together. They
were fortunate circumstances for us, considering all we’d been through.
The first night, I woke from a horrifying nightmare, having wet
the inflatable fabric covered mattress. I’d ruined it. Len was furious and began yelling at me. For
the first time in my short memory, my aunt defend me. She immediately hollered
at him delivering a reminder of all of the abuse we’d just been through. He became silent, and she instructed that I go
and take a shower and change. We hadn’t
brought many clothes, so I had to sleep in his V-neck undershirt as a nightgown.
I remember how quiet he was after I got out of the shower. He
took a shirt out of his drawer, and placed it on the bed. He smiled and looked
away, touching my head as he passed to give me privacy to change. His gentle
movements were somehow exaggerated; awkward but genuine. After I dressed, he
hugged me before I went back to bed. I liked the idea that I was able to wear
his t-shirt. I hadn’t ever worn men’s clothing before. It didn’t look any different, but wearing it made
me feel protected. Wearing it felt like an apology, which I gladly accepted. He still loved me, I knew that.
Rebecca and I went
back to sleep on the floor until the beds were delivered. I didn’t want to disappoint him again, and weeks
later, when my night terrors worsened, and I continued to wet the bed, I did my
best to hide it.
Len wasn’t gentle by nature. He had a wonderful heart, but he wasn’t sure
how to show his feelings. His voice carried, long and loud. It’s certainly one
of the distinct characteristics that made me the craziest, and cracked me up at
the same time. Outside of the hugs that
were never quite an embrace, they seemed uncomfortable for him and sometimes they
were surprisingly jarring, his voice will be one of the things I will miss the
most.
I will also miss seeing the joy on his face at my
children. He fell in love with Noah the
first time he laid eyes on him. It was the same with my Nephew, now sixteen,
and my daughter, now fourteen. I think
he saw a kindred spirit in Noah. A bit
of mischief, a quirky sense of humor, it was inevitable that they be friends
from the start.
I often joke that my son is a forty year old man trapped in
a four year old body. He worries and
fusses just like a little old man. When they
spent time together, they were a perfect pair.
At Christmas two years ago, Papaw insisted that he be the
one to take Noah out to ride his bicycle for the first time. Len’s own daughter had lived and suffered
with hydrocephalus and was never able to ride a bicycle. I was proud to let him have this opportunity,
so I followed and took photos.
He tried so hard to
keep Noah from falling, that he tripped over his own feet and fell scratching
his arm. Even though he’d fallen, it was such a proud moment for him.
There are so many moments flooding in, so many precious memories
most are not so tender, but they are all meaningful, and real. This is a deep
loss for me. The only father I ever
knew.
I chose to view his remains today. I needed to say goodbye. His face retained a
ruddy color in the cheeks. He appeared
to be sleeping, so surprisingly free of stress, and pain. I half expected him
to open his mouth and let out a bellowing snore as he was so famous for at
family functions. His mouth held the trace of a smile, not an expression
familiar to his natural state. The lack of creases in his skin, and across his
brow told me that he may have died alone, but he did not suffer. In his last
moments I’d like to think he was reunited with his daughter who may have walked
him home.
