An Unexpected Goodbye

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.