When I was a kid, my only blood uncle was my mom's brother Joe. He was almost a decade older than my mom, and had no kids of his own, so he was the typical uncle; teased DW and me incessantly, conned us into being quiet by calling it The Silent Game, normal pesky uncle behavior. After I had Montana, the teasing was reborn, and she adored him.
Nearly 30 years ago, Joe wrecked his back beyond repair--not for lack of trying though. He could no longer work, most days he was bedridden. Doctors prescribed him morphine, tylenol, anything that would give him even a temporary hiatus from the excruciating pain he experienced day in and day out. When these no longer delivered relief, he looked elsewhere, down a destructive path of illegal drugs and painkillers.
Over the years, the pain coupled with illegal substances tore away at the real Joe, leaving behind a paranoid, angry, ugly person. Every once in a while we would see glimpses of my uncle, such as when he rescued me and my Kindergartner after our first car had stranded us on the freeway. He made sure we were safe, and took care of the car for me. When he was told it was beyond repair, he bought me a new car, one in much better shape. I was ecstatic! If it hadn't been for him, we would have been in trouble.
A few months into my new ownership, the drugs took my uncle away. I started getting phone calls harrassing me about the car, claiming that the original agreement was that I would only have temporary use of the vehicle, and then he would take it back and buy me a junker. I was devastated, frustrated, and stubborn; I kept the car. After that the relationship went downhill, existing only in brief arguments over the phone, and ending in the confrontation we had a year ago when he showed up on my doorstep asking for the car, and not telling me how he attained my address.
Up to that point, my mom and I had been the only family who would still associate with Joe, due to his bilking my grandmother (his mother) out of half her money when she sold her house. He didn't seem to care that everyone had turned him away, and he was burning the only familial bridge he had left.
It has been over a year since I last spoke with Joe (I did see him once but hid) and I didn't much care.
Three days ago there was a message on my phone from my aunt, one who I haven't seen or talked to since Thanksgiving of last year due to my fight with my grandmother, so I knew something was up. My first thought, and my mom's first thought, was that something had happened to Gramma. She hasn't been doing well lately.
My mom called her sister back, to find out something that shocked us both to the core: Joe had passed away that morning. I couldn't believe it...my uncle was dead? He may not have been in the best health, but he was only 60! An autopsy was ordered, which I expected would point to drug use and the inevitable breakdown of his body, but we found out yesterday that it was actually pneumonia and a lung infection that did him in.
When my mom got off the phone, I felt nothing. Actually, that's a lie--I did feel something: relief. Knowing he could no longer harass me or scare me made me relax more than I had realized I needed to. Then my mom broke down, and that made me feel everything on top of my nothing. No matter what had happened in the last decade, Joe was her brother. Her BROTHER. He's dead. I comforted her best I could, did a midnight run to borrow money from someone so I could go to the store for phone minutes so she could talk to DW and her mother, and then went to bed.
Two days ago while I was at work the reality of it sunk in. Not only did the frightening drug user die, but so did my uncle. The uncle I had as a child, the guy who used to joke around and enjoy life when he wasn't hurting. We will never see that man again.
Right now my mom is with her sister dealing with the funeral home, and sorting out his things, and my heart hurts for her. There will be no service, Gramma's decision.
I am a flurry of emotions right now, from mourning to relief to guilt to shock to sadness. At least we know Joe can finally feel some relief..
RIP Uncle Joe
1950~2010
