Tag Archives: friendship

My Uncle, My Friend

etc., family, , , ,

Uncle Phil was not my uncle by blood or marriage. He was my friend, an honorary uncle. And now he’s gone. I just got word today.

Uncle Phil was a friend to me when I deeply needed one. I met him during my college years, a long time ago, but I’ve never forgotten what he has done for me. He helped me through one of the darkest times of my life, when I was bereft. He never understood exactly what his presence meant to me, but he lent it all the same.

Uncle Phil was a companion not just in sorrow, though he certainly was that. But he was also a friend in joy. He and his wife drove over 500 miles just to be at my wedding to Dan, and we drove over 500 miles to be at his to Meg.

Uncle Phil helped shape my musical taste. He played the guitar, specializing in old-timey music, with a group called Mole in the Ground. There were many times when he played for me—Fox on the Run or some old square dance tune, and “Star of the County Down,” which was the song he associated with his wife. He took me with him to his band’s performances and played for me on porches and in empty rooms.

I have memories. Good ones. Uncle Phil took me on picnics with peanut butter sandwiches on light rye at a local park. We played with a wandering puppy who would catch a ball and then run off with it. Uncle Phil called it a “Labrador De-triever.”

Uncle Phil taught me so many things. He taught me songs. He taught me to read Tarot cards. He taught me his unique interpretations of Bible stories. He taught me how to be strong. He taught me to appreciate Irish whiskey. He taught me how to grasp happiness from the midst of despair. He taught me that I could take care of someone else even when I needed taking care of myself.

Uncle Phil was a Friend as well, a member of the Society of Friends (Quakers), a beacon of the inner light. I attended meetings with him a few times and shared in the peace and fellowship. He lived his faith without retreating from the world that contained a troubled me.

Uncle Phil has left this world. I toasted him with Irish whiskey and Irish music. My grief is still raw. I am richer for having known him and the world is poorer for having lost him.

Missing My Friend

etc., health, pets, Uncategorized, writing, , , , ,

Last week I received an answer to a query. An agent I had contacted about my mystery novel had asked to review my complete manuscript.

My first thought was, “I have to tell Robbin about this!” But I couldn’t.

No, Robbin doesn’t have COVID and she isn’t dead. But she had a severe stroke last month and is in a nursing home. I can’t visit her or even call her on the phone. 

Robbin has a limited range of motion on one side of her body. With the other hand, she keeps trying to pull out her trache tube, which has made her life a tennis match between hospital and nursing home. Hospital to insert the tube, and back to the nursing home until she pulls it out again. Evidently, the nursing home does not have personnel able to put in a trache.

Robbin’s daughter and husband have had “window visits” with her, and now Stu is allowed to visit her in person. Stu and Kelly phone me frequently to give me updates on her condition, though there isn’t really much to tell, except transfers to and from the hospital and occasional infections and fevers. The latest update was that they’re now treating her for pneumonia. None of it is in the least encouraging.

I fear I will never have my friend back again.

Robbin and I met when she applied for a temporary job at a publishing company where I was working. I remember seeing her credentials and editing test and thinking, “We’ve got a live one here!” She only worked at the company for a few months, but it was enough to bond us.

Robbin has been my partner in crime, my commiseration buddy, my writing cheerleader, and my test audience. We have compared notes on our mental and emotional states, bitched about our husbands, given each other gifts, talked for hours about everything or nothing much. We have crashed parties together. We have made rum balls together. (My contribution was to taste them and advise, “Needs more rum.”)

She has taken me shopping and dressed me up like her own personal Barbie. Until she came along, I didn’t know there were any colors other than beige, olive drab, and camo. She took my husband shopping too, when he needed a suit for his class reunion.

When a tornado destroyed our house and my husband and I were stuck in a Red Cross shelter, Robbin and Stu gave us a lift and the use of their credit card to get us into a motel, where we stayed for a number of weeks.

I gave Robbin the first cat she ever had (Norman), thus starting her on a long career as the local Crazy Cat Lady. We’ve supported each other and cried our way through many a feline illness and death, and reminisced about our little friends afterward. I know her cats and her little chihuahua Moochie are missing her too. (This cat would surely remind her of Sandy, or one of the many others she opened her heart and house to.)

Robbin has never been good at diplomacy. She says what she thinks and doesn’t sugarcoat it for anyone. You always know where you stand with her. She has a generous heart and a raucous laugh that I fear I will never hear again. Her absence is a hole in my life that no one else can fill.

I know that the odds are not good for her to recover from this, the second stroke she’s had. I know I will likely never get my friend back the way I knew her. And I know my feelings are as nothing compared to those of her husband and daughter.

But I wish I had the Robbin I knew back, even for just another phone call.