laura.elaine

papa angel died in january in dallas. uncle alex died last month in los angeles. uncle richard is dying in houston. uncle greg just escaped death in memphis. dad has been hospitalized twice since may.

i send prayer requests every time i get word of something like this. i count on my girls to pray for healing and peace. i count on them to pray for the repose of souls. each time, though, it feels more surreal. it feels like i’m asking them to pray for someone else and their hurt, some other family that isn’t mine.

i know part of that is the absence of family in my life.

i say “uncle alex”, “uncle richard”, “uncle greg”, but in reality, they’re strangers to me.

the connections to my past — to my history, to my story — are dying. quickly. i am losing them left and right and i want so desperately to stop the hands of time, to ask them questions, laugh with them, hold them, love them.

sitting at my papa’s viewing was hard. my papa married into our family after my birth, after his biological children were grown and living away from him. we never really became a family.

angel jr, carmela and michael: i miss you. i miss your laughter, your accents, your intensity about football. and oh lord, the dallas cowboys. i never showed it when i was small but i loved you. i still love you. i was always so excited to know you were coming, i was even excited to see you at the funeral mass, to walk papa down the aisle toward the altar together, like a family. michael, mikey jr — though not so little anymore — was my favorite. you made a cute kid. mikey, you also made a cute kid. i’m sad to not know him or be a part of his life. i know we aren’t related by blood, but you were my family. and i miss you.

i have four cousins in michigan; i don’t know them. their mom moved them cross-country before my first birthday and did not keep in touch. nick, ted, damien and bill. i haven’t seen their dad since i was a small girl either. i don’t know if i’ll ever see him again. that’s complicated.

i drove down as a pre-teen with my mom and grandma to see nick graduate from air force training. one weekend and he was gone again.

ted i’ve never met. damien i’ve never met.

bill calls himself jack now. i’ve only seen him once since his move to michigan. he came through dallas on leave from the marines. he’s a medic for some special little team he says is like the marine equivalent of the navy seals. it sounds interesting and fun, but also very dangerous. (in fact, he was in a humvee accident that left him pretty banged up.) he is the closest to my age and i really connected with him while he was here. i wanted so badly for our story to be different, to hang on to this lost connection. but he left, just like his brother, and all communication ended shortly thereafter.

my uncle richard, the one on life-support, has lived in houston for a long time. he moved my cousin chelsea down there when we were little and i haven’t seen or heard from them since that time. i didn’t much care for chelsea anyway so her moving wasn’t a huge loss at the time. now, though, i wish i had grown up with her.

uncle richard is actually my great uncle, my maternal grandmother’s brother. he’s one of six, the third to pass from this life — and the second to pass this year.

i wish i knew more about uncle richard. i wish i had taken the time to drive to see him, to write him letters, send him cards. i didn’t do those things and now he is gone and i have no way to make that up.

uncle alex died suddenly about a month ago. i still don’t know how he died, or where his body is. he lived alone in los angeles, though i believe he had a daughter out there. alex only came to dallas occasionally - about once every three years - by greyhound bus. he was a short guy, just like my grandma, and round, covered in tattoos. he was bald on top of his head but grew his remaining hair out long enough to fit in a pony tail. he told stories the way i imagine pirates tell their tales from the sea.

uncle alex never came to dallas empty handed. he always had treasures with him, and usually a few swords. i never really understood the sword thing, but he loved them and always seemed to have them. he liked to treat us to nice things, dinners out, and so on. i always felt bad accepting his gifts, knowing he had little money, but he so loved to give.

i loved that about uncle alex. he gave all he had and gave with pride. he never let on that he might be ashamed of not having much. he had what he had and he was grateful. what a spectacular man.

uncle joe and aunt gloria live in fort worth. at papa’s viewing, aunt gloria urged me to find her on facebook. what a laugh i had! i looked and looked but could never find her. it’s been nine months now and i’ve had no contact with either of them. i ashamed of that and hope to make it right sometime very soon.

uncle pete and aunt liz are angels in oak cliff. i love them. uncle pete dotes on me today like he would a tiny little girl. i’m still a princess, just like my aunt liz. he is a gem of a man, i wish i could have longer with him. aunt liz is full-blood native american indian and so beautiful. i wish i could have her skin! it’s smooth as butter and a perfect shade of olive. i love her smile. i love the way their old house smells. i love that uncle pete still has a full head of thick black hair. i need to make it a point to go visit them too, the crazy birds.

that’s what’s left of my mom’s family.

my dad’s family is just as far and out-of-contact.

i have an aunt, uncle, and cousin in north richland hills. that cousin is ten days younger than my sister. he’s a cutie patootie — and a trouble-maker.

i have an aunt and cousin in tennessee. i haven’t seen either of them in over ten years.

i have an uncle in memphis. his two sons are… who knows where.

my biological grandfather on my dad’s side has been gone for years. they buried him without me, the summer after my 7th grade year, i think. i barely knew papa van, but i loved him so dearly. he was a giver just like my uncle alex. he lived in a trailer, alone, on a street named after his family. he apparently had a lot of land and a fish pond. why he never had more than he did, i do not know.

papa van gave me a ring once - a diamond. i assume now it isn’t real, though i thought it was when i received it. it was so beautiful, wrapped carefully and stuffed into a little card.

something i hope i never forget: papa van had the original bitter-beer face. what a riot!

i think it was the summer of 1999 that we met him in arkansas at the family lake house, a good half-way point for everyone. i still have pictures from that trip. i remember he gave all the grandkids the golden one-dollar coins, new at the time. he sat patiently with us while parents swapped out kids for pictures. it was the last time i saw him alive.

my granny and papa live in garland and i don’t go over there nearly enough. i love them so dearly, but i feel i can never escape once i’ve gone over. i suppose going over more would shorten the visits. maybe not, but they’re worth it. we only have so long together, and i will miss them dearly when they go.

papa cannot read or write very much at all, having dropped out of school at a young age to work on the farm. he worked for a little appliance store in dallas for a long time before retiring. he taught me how to shoot a gun, appreciate a hot tub, and the best way to drink milk (freezer-cold). i always say goodbye to him first.

granny used to tell me we were going to neiman’s when she’d take me to goodwill as a kid. unfortunately for her, kids eventually grow up and learn to read. we still laugh hysterically at the story of me reading “good-will” for the very first time.

per usual, i’ve completely abandoned my original thought. oh well.

this weekend, i will go see my granny. because i love her, and i don’t want to regret the days i didn’t spend with her.