Love
Still feeling dad’s love and protection through his brothers
Last week my Uncle Jerry had a birthday. He is one of my dad’s younger brothers and a shorter, rounder version of my dad. In fact, all of my uncles are the spitting image of him, right down to the beautiful black hair. The only differences are their sizes - some short, some tall, some thin, some muscular, some pleasantly plump, but all lovely men. After Uncle Jerry retired, he started making use of his local senior center wood shop. He and my Aunt Ruthie would collect wood from family farms, historical trees, and unusual species for him to use on his bowls. Each and every one of them is unique and beautiful. I have been blessed to be gifted a few of them, some of which have earned spots of honor in the courtrooms where I have worked. They serve as a daily reminder of Jerry, my dad and the paternal side of my family.
My dad grew up in Minnesota and moved to the Pacific Northwest when his job with the railroad moved he, my mom and 4 of my siblings to Seattle in the mid-60’s. Since that time, I have always enjoyed our family visits to visit my big, lovely, Catholic, mid-west, funny Polish relations.
Later in life, I have made efforts to return to MN to visit. They are all now in their mid-late 80’s and each time I leave them, I’m reminded that this may be the last hug and last goodbye.
I thank God everyday that I have wonderful memories of each and every one of them. Uncle Clarence calling early in the morning PST and yelling over the phone “Gabrielle, it’s your Uncle Clarence! Where’s your mudder?” Running between Uncle Jerry and Aunt Clara Ann’s house because they only lived a few blocks apart and there was a corner shop selling Otter Pops on the way. Hanging out downtown at the lake on the paddle boats. Following around my Uncle Spatz and laughing with Aunt Maxine. Getting chased by Uncle Howie after he discovered slugs in Seattle. My Aunt Clara Ann’s crazy talent for sewing and quilting. Going into the train depot in Seattle with my dad on Saturday mornings to make calls to whatever uncles happened to show up to the train depot in MN and how 2 groups of them made the trek out to our house the summer of 1989, when the doctors decided they’d done all they could for my dad, to say their last goodbyes. Five of the eight are together again in heaven, and I will continue to enjoy the 3 who remain. My last connection to my dad.
Happy birthday Uncle Jerry! Your wood bowl sits in my courtroom with me - thank you for the constant daily reminder of you and how much my dad loved his family every day of his life.
