The story of how I came into this world is quite funny. Mom woke up at 5 in the morning with contractions that were 3 minutes apart. By 8 o'clock her water had broken and she found out I was supposed to have been a twin. By 830 I had popped out so fast I almost fell on the floor. The Dr literally ran into the room put one glove on and grabbed a paper towel. There I was, a bundle of joy that my mom didn't want. (She wanted 3 boys and instead had 2 boys and me!) That is another blog, for another day. This blog, is the story of a girl and her Uncle.
When I was very little, even before I started talking, my Uncle Vince came to live with us. Uncle Vince was married to my mom's sister Ruth Anne. I never called her Ruth so from now on in this story she will be Aunt Annie. Anyway, Uncle Vince came to live with us for awhile.
You see, Uncle Vince was in construction. For as long as I can remember that is what he has been doing.The man is nearly 80 years old and still does one form of construction work or another. He had a bedroom in the basement of our house and was gone way before we woke up in the mornings and usually got home way after we were supposed to be in bed.
Uncle Vince and I share a love for many things. We both love history, we are both fiercely patriotic, and we have never been able to turn down Pancakes or Spaghetti.
So uncle Vince would leave in the morning and when he got home at night, even though I was supposed to be in bed, I would get to stay up with him. Mom said that I would eat a second time just so I could sit with him.
Then one day Uncle Vince broke his leg. I have no idea how and am not sure how long, but he had to stay home from work.
Uncle Vince was/is the biggest work-aholic I have ever known. (The only person who comes close is my father-in-law Steve, who works 365 days a year. I wish I were lying about that.) So Uncle Vince having to stay home was kind of a big deal. He must have talked to me a lot, even knowing I couldn't talk back. Yet. There are even pictures of me sleeping on Uncle Vince's chest with his leg propped up. One of his favorite stories that he tells anyone who will listen is when I fell asleep on his chest and decided that I needed to roll over. As I started rolling off the couch, he says he broke his leg again trying to catch me. If you are ever lucky enough to meet Uncle Vince, have him tell you the story. It is hilarious and filled with expletives. Which most of his stories are.......
Which brings me to the next story. You see, I spent more time with Uncle Vince than most anyone, and I guess talking to me was good for him, cause I never interrupted and apparently paid very close attention. One day I was in my walker helping mom with the dishes. I believe I dropped a plate or something, the first words out of my mouth were "Son of a Bitch"! Not so sure mom was happy about it then, but it makes her laugh now. Oh and I should probably mention those were my first words, ever. The only problem is, after those words, I never stopped talking. She said that after I would say something, that I obviously heard from Uncle Vince, I would look at her and say "don't say that Mom??".
Uncle Vince lived with us for a few years. I remember playing in the basement and always being told to not go in his room. Uncle Vince had blue prints for houses everywhere. It looked more like a work room than a bedroom, who knows maybe it was a work room. I am going from the memory of a four year old so my story may be a little choppy.
One day my little brother, Bubba, decided to go in Uncle Vince's room and play with matches. You can imagine how dangerous this situation was given all the papers in the room. He started a fire and ran out of the room crying. Me and my older brother thought that little Tupperware cups that we were playing with, would suffice to put out the fire. We did manage to get the fire out, but not before some major damage was done to the blue prints. We had to tell our father, who was still around at the time, and he was not pleased. I remember him spanking me and sending me to my room. I should have came and got him right away, he said. I never should have tried to put the fire out by myself. We all got in trouble. I'm sure my little brother got the worst of it, but honestly I was more worried about what Uncle Vince would say.
You see, even then, I cared more about what Uncle Vince thought about me, then anyone else in my life. In the end he was pretty pissed off. There was definitely a slew of curse words uttered. Then, very calmly he said he was glad no one got hurt and it wasn't worse than it was. I'm pretty sure he forgave us, but he tells this story to anyone who will listen as well.
So eventually Uncle Vince went back to live with Aunt Annie. Of course we saw both of them a lot. I loved going over to their place and just sitting next to Uncle Vince and listening to his stories. I seriously have spent hours transfixed on his every word. He has amazing stories about being in the military and fighting over seas. He would tell me about the books he was reading. To me, its always more interesting to hear Uncle Vince's take on the book, then to read it myself. He did manage to convince me I should read Mein Kampf.
Then Aunt Annie got sick.
She had cancer and it wasn't pretty. I took her to a few of her chemotherapy appointments. Those were some pretty tough days. Soon Aunt Annie was in a hospice.
One day, mom got a phone call from the hospice. Aunt Annie wasn't doing very well and the family should probably get there asap. The immediate family was at a wedding for one of Aunt Annie and Uncle Vince's daughters. So I went with mom to Aunt Annie's bed side. It was the summer that I graduated from high school and I had just turned 18. I had been to many funerals, but had never seen someone pass away. How does one prepare for that? I mean, you see it in movies, on t.v., you hear about it from other people, but you just don't know, until you experience it for yourself.
Aunt Annie wasn't breathing very well and although her eyes were open, you could tell that she wasn't really there. Mom bent down and started hugging her. She kept saying "it's ok, you can go. We all love you. you can go." Over and over again my mom said these words. I just stood there and did the only thing I knew to do, I grabbed her hand and held on and rubbed her arm. I just kept saying the same things that mom was saying. Then she was gone................
The first thing I could hear myself saying to my mom was, "oh god, Uncle Vince". We stayed until everyone got to the hospice, it was really weird being in the room with my Aunt for such a long time. Then everyone was in and out of the room and the next few days were such a blur. Mom says there is a reason her and I were the ones there on that day. I don't know what to believe. I just know that I was more worried about my Uncle than anyone else.
You could tell that a huge chunk of him was missing. I'd never seen him cry until then. I remember hugging him, and knowing that all he wanted was to see her one last time. ugggghhhhh I can't think about that day without feeling horrible. It's a terrible thing to say, but I felt worse for my Uncle than I did for my Aunt. She was the epitome of a person suffering from cancer. She was a mere shell of her former self and in the end she was literally dying from pain and suffering. My Uncle looked as if he was going to die from a broken heart. I'd never looked at Uncle Vince and noticed how tiny he was, until the day of my Aunt's funeral.
Not long after Aunt Annie's funeral, I moved to Virginia. I went home the following year to visit and of course had spaghetti dinner with Uncle Vince. He seemed to be doing much better and was still working. He told me the same stories and asked how I was doing.
A couple of years later I came home and Uncle Vince met the man who would eventually become my husband. He gave Dave the same speech he gives any many who come into the life of a woman in his life. "hurt her, and I'll hurt you." Only Uncle Vince's threat also included nailing Dave's nuts the the floor of a tool shed...... yeah he doesn't hold back much. I had spaghetti dinner with him that time as well. Every time I come home to Colorado I have spaghetti dinner with Uncle Vince. I sit next to him, I listen to him tell me stories, and I always ask him about the time he broke his leg catching me fall. It never gets old. I don't care that he tells me the same stories over and over again. I will never tell him I heard them before.
I even called Uncle Vince to tell him I was getting married. He sounded a little dissapointed that I wouldn't be coming home and having a big wedding, but he knows I am not like the other women in his family. He knows I am stubborn and head strong and need to do things my way. He also knows that he is one of the few people I would have wanted at my wedding had I actually gone home to have it.
I don't feel like I have to call Uncle Vince often, or write to him. I am sure he knows how often I think of him because I know he thinks of me often. We just have that kind of a bond. Too everyone else I am his Niece, but to Uncle Vince I'm "his Nichole"!
This year I am planning on going to Colorado for the first time in 6 years. I know I will see Uncle Vince and I know we will have spaghetti dinner. I also know that he will tell me stories and talk to me for hours. This, above all else, is what I am looking forward to. I love Nichole/Uncle Vince time. I love my mom and my brothers, and my daddy very much. I love my nephew more than words can say. I am looking forward to seeing many old friends. However, when I see Uncle Vince, I will know that I am home.
No comments:
Post a Comment