Sometimes I bemoan the fact that my parents divorced, my dad disappeared for life and my single mother wasn’t actively involved parent. I wonder what life would have been like in a loving 2 parent family, with stability, security and nurturing.
Then I think about my childhood and remember the parts of it that were wonderful.
For my first 6 years, I lived in Tamaqua, a small depressed coal-mining town in Pennsylvania. My entire family lived here. At least 4 generations of parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins all grew up and remained there.
My great Aunt Essie and great Uncle Bob lived together in a 2 bedroom duplex. They were siblings who were in their 70s. They had raised multiple generations of kids in my family. If our parents were working, we’d be sent down the street to be watched by Essie and Uncle Bob.
They taught me how to make a bed. They hiked with me in the woods, showing me how to find tea-berries, identify sassafras and chew on birch bark.
Uncle Bob took me to the barber every Saturday to hang out with the men and get a trim.
Aunt Essie made homemade meals from scratch every day and taught me to cook.
When I fell down and scrape up my knees, Essie would rock me in her lap and bandage me up. When I needed someone to play cowboy with, Uncle Bob would “shoot” me with his finger while I crawled behind the arm chair.
I loved them so much.
Uncle Bob died of cancer when I was 5. Aunt Essie died years later, when I was a teenager.
When I was a lifeguard during college and kids got injured, I didn’t rely on my Red Cross First Aid training to comfort them. I did what Essie did for me.
When I became an instant stepfather to a 5 year old boy after meeting my future wife, I knew just what to do – act like Uncle Bob.
Now I’m in a different chapter of my life where I’ve never been before. I’ve been married, widowed, retired and just starting dating after 32 years. It’s exciting, frustrating, confusing, exhausting and exhilarating.
Sometimes I wish I could talk to Uncle Bob and Aunt Essie. They seemed to have seen everything before and always knew what to do. I miss their wisdom. I miss sitting in their laps. I miss their love.
I an atheist. I don’t believe in God or the afterlife.
Yet, I believe that love for others does continue after death. Although Aunt Essie and Uncle Bob are gone, I like to think that I carry a piece of their love inside of me and pass it on to others.
If I was able to talk to them today for their advice about my current dilemmas, maybe they wouldn’t have much to say. After all, neither had ever married. They weren’t dating anyone (that I was aware of). They were bother and sister and still lived in the home their parents had grown up in.
Maybe, instead of advice, they would just love me in the best way they could and I would know everything was going to be all right.
