And when November goes...

Ah the holidays! The change of season, the sounds, the smells, the vibe…it can be intoxicating can’t it? Sure it can. Burt for many, the holidays bring up memories; many pleasant, but also some not so. Loss is a part of life, but when that loss is tied to a holiday, it can make that holiday a challenge. Case in point…

Back in the “day,” when the decision was made to make the move to Colorado from the little hamlet that was my hometown in West Virginia, I was but a mere tyke just barely 6. In my mind, it was simply a visit for the holiday’s…to visit my uncle, whom I had no awareness even existed at that time. The nefarious plan to move to this “big city” was kept from me until after we had arrived in the Mile High. It was here that I was introduced to my uncle.

Charismatic, funny as hell, and quite a looker, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, my uncle was an amalgamation of many things. Some of those things were witty and charming; others were darker. He was quite the fan of the ladies, and he was never shy about the attention. But when the darker side emerged, it could be a frightening thing to witness.

Volkswagen Squareback
Isn't it a beauty?

As a wee one, I was obsessed with most things car related. And my uncle had what was for me, at the time, the Holy Grail of automobiles; an orange early 70’s edition Volkswagen Squareback. It was AWESOME, and I liked nothing more than going for rides in that car. One particular Sunday, my cousins and myself piled in for another adventure. As we took off on this excursion, there was already a pall that had fallen. My cousins and I chattered away in the backseat, while the darkness descended on the driver and his passenger. 

Whizzing east on the 6^th Avenue freeway, as we had done so many times before, something happened in the blink of an eye that changed everything. With little effort or explanation, my uncle managed to reach across to the passenger side, open the door, and shove my aunt out. And yes, the car was moving at the time.

It was as if time stood still. I am fortunate to have so many memories from childhood burned into my memory. This is one that I wish wasn’t. I remember the horror of looking out the back window, and seeing my aunt crumpled up on the side of the road, push herself up onto her side, and then again collapse. As kids we were all more than a little bit upset. And it seemed in that moment my uncle realized the gravity of what he had done. He pulled the car over, got out, and ran to help my aunt.

Miraculously, when she got back into the car, she was more or less uninjured; aside from a bit of road rash and minor scrapes. Once she was safely in the car, we were once again on our way…silently…towards our destination. Repeatedly we were asked not to mention what had happened to anyone…including my aunt’s sister. To the best of my memory, we all somehow managed to abide this wish.

I stopped going on excursions with my uncle after that.

I don’t share this story to paint him in an unflattering light at all. He was a good man at his core, but the good man inside him often lost the struggle with the demons that occupied space inside him as well. He left us in 2006; a fact my mother didn’t learn of until about a year ago. He left a void in my mom’s life, in the life of his children, in my life that isn’t easily filled. My gratitude for him is sincere; without him, I wouldn’t have the family that I hold so dear. But that relationship is for another time. I want to go back to the original subject of this story. Moving on…

Befor things get challenging...

My dad was born November 19, 1914. I try to honor this date in some small way every year when it comes around. But it is a challenge. He was a complex and difficult man to know. As his only natural child, I never felt I was part of his world. Our relationship was never that of the traditional “father and son;” it couldn’t be. Our biggest obstacle was distance; both physical and emotional.

Did you take note of that birth date? Yes, there was quite a gap for a father and son. He passed away in the Spring of 1991, so you can choose to be a math whiz if you want. Still, I can understand what my mom saw in him. He was very much a man…virile, handsome, and muscled. He was a catch. How he and my mom ever got together is somewhat of a mystery, all I know is that the end result was yours truly. I am grateful...I come from some pretty impressive genetic stock!

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have a conversation with someone who has passed away? Well, I have! I do it all the time. That too is a topic for another of these blog posts. But I did “reach out” to my dad in a more conventional way; by means of a letter. It was quite a letter…let me tell you. I won’t disclose a lot of the details here, because it was a private missive between me and the man that I remember him to be. Suffice to say, this letter was a lulu. But, I said everything I needed to say to bring closure.

These two men hold very special and important places in my heart…and always will. For their time here on this Earth I will always be grateful. I will never forget my Uncle Bill calling myself and my cousins "little crumb  ” with such affection. I will never forget my dad saying to me “you just be a good boy,” with a wink and an awkward smile. I loved them both, while at the same time I wished they could have somehow been different men. If they had been stronger, more sensible, less volatile, more compassionate, less self-deprecating, and possessors of a penchant for unconditional love for those who loved them, who knows what might have been. In spite of their flaws, they will always be part of the tapestry that is the month of November. At least for me.