Every year on this day, I try to put a few thoughts into words but never quite manage. Today I'm sitting at the sunny dining room table while a flurry of handymen install a new A/C unit and do duct / HVAC work in our house. It's probably not the best time to delve into my memories of a loved one lost but, hell, when is a good time?* Where I really want to be is on the road, headed north to my hometown to spend this day with my family (whom I miss so frickin' much) as they celebrate the legacy of a damn good man. But it's pandemic times, and me just a few weeks out from being fully vaccinated, so, here we are....
It always amazes me to think that what I know of any person is just a small part of what makes up their life. I only ever know them through my particular lens, and my interactions with them, despite there being infinite other instances they share elsewhere with others. I knew Vern as an uncle, not as a father, brother, or son. In those capacities, I saw him through the eyes of my cousins, who grew up in a loving household; my mom, as she laughed and joked with her big brother; and my grandma, as her first born doted upon her.
I wasn't even alive the first half of his life, but he was there for all of mine. And there are still such distinct moments I shared with him. Moments that I know are still happening in another time and place.
- My uncle and aunt had a library room in their old house. It had floor to ceiling shelves with books. Vern told me that if I read every one of those books, I'd pretty much know all that needs knowing. He loved learning, and always knew something about everything. As a child, I more than once thought he was probably the smartest man in the whole world.
- That library didn't just have books, it also had hundreds of movies. VHS tapes and eventually DVDs. Every New Year's Eve we would have a movie marathon. My mom, sister, grandma and I all got to pick out a movie to watch. We'd make the drive out to that room, that library, and pick out how we wanted to ring out and in the new year. His love for movies was infectious. Any tape you picked out, he could tell you some extra tidbit about. That room was a school of knowledge and fun facts, with Uncle Vern as the professor.
- They lived out of town in the country, in a small unincorporated community that pretty much featured just a winding road, a bar, a cheese factory, and my aunt and uncle's house. So they jokingly called Vern the Mayor. And I believed it. Because he seemed like the kind of guy who'd make a nice mayor. Everyone knew him and liked him, and if you needed anything, he'd be there to help.
- Given their location, every summer meant a giant birthday bonfire. All the cousins and family in one spot to bask in the flames of the previous year's Christmas trees, massed atop a giant pile of wood and fuel. Just be sure to grab him a beer, so long as you're over by the cooler there.
- Any celebration was made a little more jovial when Vern was there. Sunday Packers game potlucks, tearing up the dance floor at a wedding, or the inevitable silly stringing at a birthday. Somehow, you never saw it coming, but it always came. You went from blowing out birthday candles to just caked in silly string. When we moved out of the trailer, there was still silly string stains on the ceiling from one overly zealous celebration.
- He had a beautiful singing voice. In the rare occasion I was with him at the same time in a church, it was a real treat to hear him belt out the hymnals. And any time there was a bar with a jukebox or a random karaoke machine, there was that voice. I have a vivid memory of sitting on a stool at a bar up north by our cabin, sipping a kiddy cocktail, my legs dangling, watching Uncle Vern harmonize a John Denver song with a stranger. Take me home, country roads, indeed.
- Times up at the cabin were great. Swimming in the lake, cooking back-to-back and butt-to-butt in that tiny kitchen while everyone played cards at the table, while some golden oldies streamed from a radio perched atop the fridge. My uncles and the cabin are interlaced in my mind. One of the last times being when Vern was sick, but everyone gathered up to build a new outhouse. Each of my uncles had a specific skillset when it came to building, whether electric, plumbing, framing, etc. Between the three of them, they could design and construct just about anything. Even my grandma's "pop back" garage.**
- Swimming at the lake wasn't the only spot for a dip. Every family wedding or event that involved a hotel, and you'd find Vern in the pool. I remember going with another uncle to 'find Vern' and of course we found him swimming. "It's brother Vern, the whiiiiiite whaaaaale," my uncle bellowed as Vern laughed and splashed. Minutes later my aunt appearing with a, "Vern, get out of the damn pool, you gotta get ready!"
- My aunt. Goodness gracious did he sure love her. Their marriage is still one I hold on a pedestal in my mind as to what a happy married couple looks like. A married couple who has seen it all, been through times good and bad, and has come out stronger. Vern always had a mischievous look in his eye and a little chuckle as he'd pat my aunt's butt as she walked past him; a chiding little remark from her was always accompanied with a smile. Growing up, they were the duo with the longest marriage in my eyes. It seemed like they were still newlyweds somehow, and yet the just always had such a deep understanding and respect for each other. They both played their role in the relationship, and I watched as a kid, thinking I was seeing #relationshipgoals without even yet knowing what that meant.
- He was just a loving person. He wanted to make sure everyone felt cared about. Every year on Valentine's Day, he'd go down to my mom's office and bring chocolates and treats for my ma and all the women in her office. Every year. Just so they knew they were appreciated.
- And hugs. OH boy, did he sure give the best hugs. Almost overwhelming to a small child, but his hugs would just envelop you in love and kindness.
It was ten years ago today that my Uncle Vern passed away. Diagnosed in September 2010 with pancreatic cancer (which rapidly spread elsewhere), they'd given him three to six months, and there we were in the ominous month seven. I had graduated college in a recession and struggled to find a job in my field, so that year, my uncle's last year, I was living at home with my mom and got the gift of time with my family. He was the first close (actually close) relative who died, and being 22 at the time, I was lucky to have not felt such loss sooner. Telling the story of that year, and what it really looks like to lose such a light in such a dreadful way, is still not something I can properly put to words. But the point I guess isn't that he died, as awful and heart wrenching as it was, the point is that he lived. He really, truly, fully lived. And the world is all the better for it. And we all miss him like hell.
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| Silly string: you never see it coming, but it always does. |
* If they grown men can handle a lady in a dainty floral face mask quietly crying as she types at her laptop, while they lug around filters, fans and ducts, then they can just get on out!
** A solidly built garage is still no match for an old woman with a lead foot. Just before we had to take away my grandma's license, she had one last hurrah in which she drove her car straight through the back of that garage my uncles had helped build her. In another garage, a back wall might have stopped and perhaps killed an old woman from the impact, but not this garage. Instead the back wall sort of just popped open for her daring escape into the backyard and through the woods. The car may not have made it, but she came out of the whole ordeal fine (just pissed off, per usual).
