Stolen time

My Uncle Tony was an artist. When I was little he would show me his beautiful etchings in metal. Delicate. He made pewter praying hands for my grandma. I wonder who has those now? He had a coffee table that he made himself. He used to make me little drawings whenever I asked. He was a tall man, a giant. A six-foot-plus tower with a long, dark, bushy mane and beard that made him look a lot tougher than he was. He was a gentle giant. He grew up with four pushy sisters, an abusive, alcoholic father, a mother who was constantly defending her German heritage, and dumbo ears. Yes, Tony had ears that stuck out from his head like sails. And my grandma used to cut his fine, then-blonde hair into a flat mohawk of sorts which only accentuated his ears. Torture. I always remember him wearing the same thing when I was little. He had his big black boots, dark jeans, t-shirt and/or thermal and/or flannel, and a trucker hat. It was a look he perfected in the 1970s and never gave up. His heart was broken then (his spirit was already damaged) and he stopped moving forward. The woman he thought he was going to spend his life with left him. Left him with four pushy sisters, an angry (recovering?) alcoholic of a father and a mother who tried to defend him, even when it maybe didn't seem like it. He drifted along, job to job. Sometimes he lived on his own. Sometimes he lived in his parents basement. I lived there, too, when Tony was living in the basement. When I was little and my mom was sick and/or going to beauty school, I lived with my grandparents, and my uncle lived in the room they built him in the far corner of the basement, near the washer and dryer. He worked nights and I would wake up early, even when I didn't have school or camp, just so I could see him. He would come in with a brown paper bag- beer for him, m&m's for me. We would share this odd morning snack, then he would go to sleep and I'd continue on my day. Some point after that he lost his license. It was not a permanent loss, but it wasn't the only time he was without. He and my grandfather were still not reconciled. Most of my grandpa's kids still haven't forgiven him for how he was when they were growing up. My grandma held the relationships together as best she could, which isn't saying much. When she got sick a few years ago, all the kids came home. I drove to pick Tony up and we talked like old friends. My Uncle Tony and Aunt Pat sort of tried to talk to my grandpa. Then my grandma passed on two years ago, Gabe continued to be bossy, Tina continued to be needy, my mom tried to play peacemaker, Pat stopped trying to have a relationship with any of us, and Tony felt like he couldn't try anymore. At least not with my grandpa. My mom wanted Tony to move here by us. Get a job, stay with them in the suburbs, take the train or bus places. Anywhere had to be better than small town he was stuck in. Tony lived with his only friend Joe in a town not 10 minutes from my grandpa and Aunt Tina, but he never saw them. Then Joe moved into the city to be by his sister. Tony had only recently gotten a car. He was working a job he had been at for about a year. Times are tough in a small town for a 52 year old man with a bad liver and almost no teeth. He spent a lot of time between jobs. He had no money or insurance to get his teeth fixed so he just started to loose them. My mom wanted to help get him dentures. Maybe get him to trim his graying mane into something a little less bushy. She wanted my grandpa and uncle to reconcile before my grandpa's pacemaker stopped working. My mom and grandpa were worried that it would be too late for them. I don't know what Tony thought. My mom called me hysterically crying today (which at first worried me because she still isn't doing all that well from this latest surgery) and she could barely get words out. My Uncle Tony was found dead in his bed. 52 years old, all alone. He had probably been gone for 6 days. He was home from work with a pinched nerve and he died and no one found him for 6 days. He never reconciled with my grandpa. Not close to any of his sisters, really, except my mom. We don't have any details yet but they say it looks like natural causes. 52 and alone, natural causes. My mom is devastated. She loved her poor lonely artistic misunderstood brother so much. And since she isn't well and had surgery #32 just a month ago, she cannot travel from Chicago to Minneapolis. My brother and I have finals this week. My stepdad can't leave work or my mom. This means that my Uncle Tony's funeral will be attended by the estranged father he rarely spoke to, 2 of his 4 sisters (one of whom said his life was a waste), an aunt, a few cousins, and his only true friend (beside my mom). Maybe a few nieces and/or nephews. Hopefully. Maybe a few old drinking/hunting buddies. It breaks my heart. I hope that he passed peacefully and painlessly in his sleep. I hope that he didn't feel alone. I hope that he felt our love even though we rarely saw him, that he knew my grandpa wanted to talk to him again but he just didn't know how. I hope my uncle was having a beautiful dream that the woman who left him broken 30 years ago came back for him, that he left us for her and eternal happiness.



This was February 6th, 2007. My grandma's 75th birthday. Three weeks before she died. The first time they had all been together in almost 15 years and the last time they would all be together. That's Tina crouching next to my grandma, my grandpa, Aunt Gabe, Aunt Pat, my mom (when she could stand a bit better) and my Uncle Tony.

May Tony and my Mayma rest in peace.