Our Baby Size Life!

Regardless of how you spend time in your life, every now and then something makes you stop and reflect.  It could be a song playing on the radio, a bit of news on the television or the sound of a familiar, yet long-forgotten voice.  It may be the smell of banana bread cooking in the oven, watching kids splash in a puddle of summer rain or just hearing the wind rustle the leaves of the trees in your backyard.  Anything can trigger a memory that makes you realize just how much time has past.  How much of your life you’ve lived.  Living my life in this hi-tech, fast paced time, I cherish these moments.  I sometimes even close my eyes and concentrate to keep them alive with me a little longer.  I can almost taste Mom’s piping hot, devilishly buttered banana bread on my tongue. But not all memories are brought to the surface of my jumbled, hurried thoughts by pleasant occurrences.

This past week, a particular wisp of remembrance stuck with me. The vividness of it astounds me and the amount of detail I can remember is far greater than most of my other lifelong recollections.  Memories tend to change a bit over time as certain facts are lost, but the purpose of the moment will live on even if you are not quite sure what that purpose is… You may not remember exactly what she was wearing, but you know she looked beautiful…

So,  here now I’d like to share a memory with you…

It was a clear, bright and sunny summer day.  The sky was a sheet of blue with the faintest specs of cauliflower clouds cresting the horizon.  I stood barefoot on a lawn of freshly mowed grass, head back staring up at the infinite blue. I wiggled my toes and felt the sharp grass tickle my feet, just to make sure I was still grounded, and not floating off into that limitless expanse were angels fly.

I was about nine years old.

“Come on John. I`ll show you my garden.”

The gruff yet warm voice snapped me out of my daydream and a firm, strong hand rested on my shoulder.  I looked up and saw my uncle smiling down at me, his bronzed skin glistening and his metallic framed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He stepped forward, towards his garden, his hand leaving my shoulder to fetch the cigar from his mouth.

“Let’s get some fresh veggies for supper eh?”, he said, after taking a few steps and turning back to look my way with his hand open: an invitation to me to take it. So, I did.  My uncle had the strongest handshake I’ve ever felt as an adult. Yet here, he was gentle in taking my little hand into his to guide me to his beloved garden.  His passion was clear as he showed, explained and taught me about the various plants living about his little Eden.  Then we got to work and we started by pulling the prickly green weeds that constantly invaded his labor of love.  We then got our hands and feet dirty working about the slinking cucumbers vines and tall tomato plants.  It took only moments, but our big plastic bowl was filled with fresh treasures that would make that evening’s meal the perfect ending to a typical, heaven-like summer day.

“All right now, John, give ‘em a little water… Here take the hose.”

I was ecstatic! I got to use the hose! He stood beside me, pointing with his fingers still clutching the stub of his smoldering cigar, where to spray.  With little indications, he helped me get the job done right: “A little more there”, “Yep, do that one too.”, “OK, he’s got enough, get his buddy over there now.”  Then, the wind would kick up, spraying us with the cool water from the hose and the crystal clear droplets seemed to almost sizzle against my sun-baked, reddening skin.  When I was done, he then smiled, knelt down next to me to inspect the bowl of colorful veggies at my feet.

“Here… Have you ever tasted one these?”, he asked with another smile.  He lifted, in his thick, tanned fingers, a delicate and bright green sugar snap.

I took it from him and felt the slick, cool skin of the bean as I looked it over, not sure what make of it.  He took another from the bowl and held it up between us, and he snapped it in two.  That sound: the crispy, cool wetness of the bean snapping in two seemed to quench my parched, dry throat.  He gave me half and seeing him eat his with a deliciously sounding crunch, I followed suit and ate mine.  It seemed as if the whole day, the whole of all my senses could be tasted in that moment.

The sky, the grass, the blistering sun and the cooling breeze.

The cigar, the water from the hose, the earth on the garden floor and the birds chirping in the trees.

It tasted like summer.

He grinned at the pleased expression on my face and said:

“Good eh? Well, thanks for your help John… Come on inside, we’ll get us some drinks… I hope your Dad left me some beer!”

He winked, stood up, put the cigar in his mouth and walked away.

I stood there and watched him go knowing I would remember this day for the rest of my life.

I just didn’t know why.

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My Uncle Bob passed away last week, and this memory is my fondest of him.  As the years went by, I saw him less as life tends to make people lose touch.  We did, however, see each other on every Saint-Patrick’s Day for some good Irish stew with a Guinness or two before heading off to the Parade.  While his tan wasn’t as dark as in his younger years, his smile was just as warm and his handshake just as strong.  And the few times I dared, cockily to test my strength against it, he promptly obliged my challenge… and crushed my hand like a vice! Humility was a lesson I learned by his hand… Literally.

The pain I feel from his passing is nothing compared to that of his wife and children, whom I am constantly thinking about, deeply sorry for their loss.  He was married for 51 years to his loving wife Mary and they had five children. In turn, their kids, Mike, Kevin, Thomas, Colleen and Brendan, gave their parents seven grandchildren.

But let’s not forget, that while Uncle Bob was a husband, a father and a grandfather, he was also a brother.  His surviving siblings have a life time of memories and moments such as mine that have called on them constantly throughout this ordeal.  He was the older brother to my mother Marlene, my uncle Peter and my uncle Don.  The weight of his loss is pressed upon them just as heavily and painfully as they too have a unique bond with my departed uncle Bob that no one else could ever have.

They knew him all their lives.

From the day they took their first breaths, up to last week, Uncle Bob had been there for them.  Last Friday, during his burial, Marlene, Don and

Peter were there for him.  I realize that I can’t possibly understand the pain, of losing a parent, husband/wife.  I cannot even imagine it. Just writing this about my uncle Bob has made me cry more than I care to admit.  But surely, the pain of losing a brother is just as intense, profound and meaningful?

I bet you anything it is. And it should be acknowledged.

The sorrowful, inconsolable eyes on the crying faces of my Mother Marlene, uncle Don and uncle Peter tell me as much. Why didn’t they for others?

Lest we not forget their pain as they are too, at the forefront of the bereaved.

To my Mother Marlene and my uncles Don & Peter… My deepest condolences. We love you all very much.

And if I may offer you one bit of comfort during these difficult times, know that Robert is now with you always…

An angel standing by.

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