Absent Uncle

There is much I could say about my Uncle, my dad’s brother who used to live on Cape Cod and whom we would see multiple times a year. Perhaps the most memorable aspect of him was his ability to spin tall tales while keeping a perfectly straight face, the whole time adding in little details that would buttress his story, add validity to its tenuous grasp with reality, and cement it as fact in the mind of the lucky recipient of the story. The stories would come off the cuff, like in the middle of a conversation about sea turtles, for instance, he would add in a little variation or twist that seemed as if it could be plausible, such as the fact that sea turtles can only eat when they are upside down in the water and for that reason there undersides are lighter to reflect the sunlight to blind predators as they consume their meal. Sounds plausible, and unless you were knowledgeable about sea turtles and their eating methods, you might actually believe my uncle and his story. Even if people seemed incredulous, he would keep that straight face of his and double down, adding in a little tidbit here or there that would enhance the story, add body and heft to it, and make it seem even more plausible. There wasn’t a topic he wouldn’t delve into, if only to see how far he could drag someone along, getting them to believe a little twist of the truth.

Yet, I haven’t seen him in years now, his wife passed away and he sold his house on Cape Cod and moved as far East as possible in the United States away from all family and ties to his previous life. He now resides on the border with Canada in, I believe, the town of Houlton, Maine. We don’t know why he moved so far away or why he doesn’t communicate with the rest of his family, but its not for lack of us trying. We send Christmas cards every year, my dad tries reaching out, but we don’t get a response anymore. I have my suspicions, and perhaps they are nothing more than a tall tale, but I suspect there is some validity to them. He had a daughter many years ago with his first wife, Katie was her name and she was my age, at least up until the age of 3 when she passed. She was in the back yard of their house playing, found a plastic bag, and ended up with it over her head, suffocating. I don’t remember anything about her as I was too young, but from what I’m told, her death was hard on my Uncle, as it would be for any father, and ultimately led to his divorce. He re-married and led what seemed a happy life, albeit with some sort of un-resolved issues with my dad from their childhood, and for a long time, we would see him multiple times a year. Then his parents, my grandparents passed, followed by his wife not long after. It was then that he up and left, leaving his past behind and retreating away from everything he knew. I don’t know what could have changed things, but I wish he could have been more open to family support and help. I feel like he took things way too hard, internalized them, and felt inwardly responsible for things that he had no control over, like the death of his family members over time.

I thought of him recently when I was in Maine, mostly on the first trip with the scouts. He was always an early riser like me, albeit even more hardcore making the 3 o’clock hour his and making no apologizes for it. My thought went to that early morning wake up time and that maybe the reason he moved so far East was so in the summer when he woke up at 3/3:30, he wouldn’t be waking in the dark, but it would actually be getting light out when he was rolling out of bed. Sure, it would only happen in the summer, but maybe that was the reason why he moved and not to escape the perceived lingering pain of death he was leaving behind. I sometimes think about trying to find him, but then, if he moved so far way and doesn’t reach back out when we try to touch base, does he even want to be found? Maybe one day we will see him again and he will spin a tall tale about how he wound up at the Eastern most point of the United States, one mishap after another leading him farther and farther until he hit the border of Canada and said time to put down my bag and stop traveling. Then again, maybe I won’t. I know I’ve learned some things from him, though, in addition to how best to spin a tall tale that is partially anchored in the truth. I’ve also learned to keep family close, move past the small grievances, and not let things go unresolved. Let family help, let them be there for you. We don’t have to go through life all alone, shouldering all the struggles by ourselves, we can ask for help. We are also all not the most important people in a room. We must remain humble and open, and willing to move on. The past is in the past, and the longer we hold on to it, the more it keeps us back from moving forward. Maybe that’s what my Uncle struggled with, letting things go. I hope one day he will reach back out, but until then, I’ll keep working on spinning my own tall tales, never succeeding to the extent that he did, but at least I’ll keep the memory of him alive in that way.