It’s awfully hard to say goodbye.
So instead, I’ll focus on the memories. Of my uncle.
I’ll start with a recent memory, even one that I’m pretty sure was shared today in church. My uncle was telling me at a family gathering not too long ago, about some of the family history. Not only does this kind of stuff fascinate me, as he is my Mum’s brother, but I find it amusing how each sibling often has their own version of events.
They are all true, of course! But still, their own take on it.
And I was eagerly listening to what he was telling me, and I can tell you honestly that I can’t remember what it was, but I remember one thing CLEARLY.
He was saying how he was the third born child in their family, but the first son. A huge grin spread across his face. This made him happy, proud, giddy like a child. I smiled with him, his worth and self-esteem at this fact so apparent, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment. In a fairly patriarchal time, having a son was something revered strongly, just because well, having a boy, as well as the obvious fact that they carry on the family name, so it was clear this was spoken about, celebrated even.
He was certainly happy about it.
***
He was always happy, actually. He’d usually start talking to me, with a bit of a straight statement, that immediately turned into a joke, and honestly the second sentence in he’d be laughing, me joining in.
***
Hubbie got along with my uncle too. Hubbie told him countless times that he was the best dancer, told me too, and anyone that would listen… he was light on his feet, fast, and moved so easily, that he was able to dance to traditional folk music like no other. It truly was a joy to witness, a special thing to be in the presence of. To this day Hubbie is adamant, no one in my family is as good a dancer as he, with his grand-daughter a close second… of course, it runs in the blood. I imagine him dancing up there, ripping it up and having a ball.
***
But my fondest memory, isn’t really a specific memory, it’s a collection of them. Because as a teen growing up, my parents along with all of my aunties and uncles, would get together and play cards, A LOT.
It was always the women against the men. So my Mum and her two sister-in-laws, along with my Dad and his two brother-in-laws. I would be home… chilling in my bedroom, listening to music, watching a movie… and they would be carrying on like nothing else on a Saturday night. Can you imagine, six 60 year-old somethings making noise like there were 30 in the house? There would be laughter from the winning teams. Angry outbursts from the losing teams! There was banging on tables as they went “Na!” and slammed their cards down in a ‘take that!’ move. And after they had all had their fill, sometimes a few games, sometimes eight, they would keep talking, eating, drinking coffee, way into the wee hours of the morning.
I really loved them being there. It made me happy. Seeing my parents happy, made me happy. Seeing my uncles and aunties happy, made me happy. Seeing them all together, having fun, laughing, getting cross at each other, accusing each other of cheating (đŽđŦđ) and making memories, is one of my best memories of them all. Because they had each other. They were having a ball, with none other than their very own family. I realised even at that young age, how special it was, and thought often, too often actually, how lucky they all were. They were all present, they were all there. They were each other’s peers, sharing all their happiness, troubles, all stories.
When I was younger I would sit with them, counting my Mums cards. When I was older, I would wonder into the kitchen sometimes at midnight, and they’d be there in the next room, playing cards. Sometimes they would acknowledge me, sometimes they’d stare seriously at their set of cards, as if the state of the world depended on it. Other times I would go to sleep, and they’d whisper loudly as they passed my bedroom, leaving the house at 1:30am.
This memory has nothing to do with me. But I was witness to it, and seeing the love around that table, hearing what transpired, the good, and the incredibly funny… I will never forget it. It was the best time. For all of us.
You can’t choose who your family are, but you can choose who you spend your time with. And they chose each other, time and time again.
Rest in peace Ujo. I don’t think I can look at a set of cards or hear a kolo, without thinking of you fondly.
Your smile is etched forever in our hearts.
đĸđđ
carcrashgratitude 