A little different

Given recent events, I decided to write a different kind of story, but I swear the funny, critical sarcastic blogs you have come to depend on will return.

Navy Jacket with Gold Buttons

 

I had never seen my dad cry so hard in my life.  We just finished viewing a video presentation commemorating the life of his three-weeks deceased youngest brother, Paul.  The photos commenced with a single shot of my uncle, so innocent and open-minded, seated in familiar place; the piano bench.  As the picture panned from micro to macro, my father's face dove between his legs, halted from contact with the floor by his hands. Only tears reached the carpet before my mother was able to stop them with a tissue.  From the cuff of his jacket, four gold buttons glistened.  

Instead of wearing funeral appropriate black, my father chose to wear a navy blazer and charcoal pants.  Though both colors are dark, neither quite communicates the mourning message similar to black.  I don't know whether the choice was deliberate, convenient or non-existent, but those colors reflected a denial of the event of which we all gathered. Postponing the reality of death with a choice of fabric.

My uncle never married nor fathered children, and as such my two sisters, cousin and I had the quintessential uncle experience. An uncle without children of his own is sheltered from the painful growth and frustration of parenting, and therefore remains pure to be a joyous, rough-housing, pool shark playing, lacking any sort of discipline or direction uncle.  Uncle Paul never let father-like tendencies taint his interactions with his nieces; the only rule was laughter.  

Tears on the sleeve of the jacket were barely dry when my father donned the same garment for a visit to my uncle's home the next day.  A jacket that once wrapped his body while utter anguish poured from the inside now sheltered a moment of complacency inside my uncle's home. We shuffled through his belongings, sharing stories and making discoveries.  Scanning the home I noticed the walls lacked decoration, especially pictures of family.  Inside the second bedroom/storage room, one bulletin board revealed more about my uncle than an entire house full of possessions.  Pinned carefully to this board were four photographs; one for each of his nieces.  Behind the facade of uncle behavior laid fatherly love.  We were his girls; his four shining stars.

After a brief conversation with a neighbor outside the home, my father headed for the car packed with luggage and us. As he waived goodbye to the neighbor, just before we boarded a plane directed home, I caught a glimpse of four gold buttons on the cuff of his navy jacket.