Dear Aunt Tina

My uncle died last week. He wasn't an uncle by blood but by marriage. We weren't especially close, but we spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. He was family. However his wife, my Aunt Tina, is someone I love very much. I don't just love her, I admire her very much. My uncle was mentally ill. I don't mean he was a little off, or got depressed. I'm talking bat-shit crazy. Many, many hospitalizations over decades. Enough lithium to bring down a rhino. My aunt saw him through all of it. She stuck by him through thick and thicker. Divorce was never considered. Indeed, their marriage produced two healthy children, who married and between them had (I think) seven children of their own. If you're imagining my aunt as long-suffering, don't. She embraced life. Her enthusiasm has never wavered and her sense of humor and laugh are strong and infectious.

As you know, I think whenever possible you should mark someone's life, even in death. So I decided to write the following letter:

Dear Aunt Tina,

I'm writing to tell you a story I don't think you know. I thought you would appreciate it.

When I was a teenager I skipped school. A lot. I wasn't really up to anything bad, but school bored me sometimes so I left. Mom and Dad were both working full time, so most days I would just go home and hang out. Invariably, late in the afternoon on many of the days I would skip, I would hear a car pull in to the driveway. The first time I was scared shitless. I peeked out the kitchen window. Who did I see in the driveway? A "junky old car and a junky old Uncle Al". I don't know why, but I immediately relaxed. I opened the back door as Al was coming up the driveway.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Al?"

"I wanted to see if you had a match."

"Um ... well, yeah. Hold on."

I don't recall that he ever came in. Usually we would walk around the back yard. He would tell me that Phil should do this... or the lawn should be cut. Mostly we would just shoot the breeze. Afterward, he would just leave.

He didn't show up every time but often. And after the first time I was never too surprised. He never mentioned it. He never told my father. I'm not sure if he told you. And he never asked me why I wasn't in school. I guess he was happy for the conversation. And the matches. I always wondered how he knew that I would be there. It wasn't until years later I figured that he probably showed up whether I was there or not. And it also occurred to me that knowing Al, mine wasn't the only house he visited. But I for one was always happy to see him. Happy to walk around the yard.

I'm sorry about your loss. I know that you didn't just lose a husband. I know that you also lost a friend. I haven't been home very much for a long time. But I will always remember my afternoons with Uncle Al fondly. Remembering this story makes me smile all these years later. I hope it does the same for you. I love and miss you.

Tom