My maternal extended family was large, warm, highly amusing and slightly crazy. They always took the toughest path but arrived at their destination in peals of good natured laughter. They created for us a world of safety and comfort, in which we were blissfully unaware of what material goods we lacked. They gathered for birthdays and anniversaries, forever on diets, but demolishing rich, creamy confections "one silver" at a time. Mostly what I remember about them is that they never argued and that they were always there when you needed support or help. From the vantage point of a child, they were a strong, solid block against whatever ills awaited us in the world. I miss them for their quirky take on the world, their belief that every ending is a good ending, and their sheer love of living.
They were used to living on top of one and other and even when families moved away and lived miles apart, they were into each other's lives on a daily basis. On the night I was born, my father was attended by my mother's eldest sister and older brother. In fact, informed that she could not accompany her baby sister into the delivery room, my aunt took up a position right outside the delivery room doors. "You cannot sit there," said some long forgotten nurse.
"Of course, I can," my aunt replied. "I am the older sister." And she would not be moved.
Because we spent entire summers with our maternal grandmother at a cottage, we came under the care of various aunts and uncles, learning more about them than other kids knew about their relations. Each loss, to a greater or lesser degree, was like losing my parents again. But this one, the final loss, is greater because it is an end to an entire generation.
My Uncle Joe was the baby of the family, born two months after his eldest sister had her first child. Uncle and niece were raised together, and Tessie was surprised when she realized that Joe was her uncle and not her brother. His life might have been one of thwarted dreams and stunted ambition, but his sense of humor and endless curiosity never failed him, or us.
I will remember him because he dumped five teaspoons of sugar in his coffee (so that he didn't have to stir), for his ability to never really grow old (until worn done by illness), and for his devotion to Frank Sinatra and Abraham Lincoln. I will miss his silly jokes, his bad puns and his other worldly way of doing things. Uncle Joe was an original. And the only comfort is that if there is an afterlife, he was welcomed there by an entire generation of his family drinking his over sweet coffee and laughing at his bad jokes.
