Losing Giants

I learned earlier this week that “Uncle Manuel” had passed away. I knew he had been ill, and Mom and I had actually been speaking of him earlier in the day. Coincidence, I suppose. A friend (his nephew) posted this picture of Manuel and his siblings saying, “Today they are all together again. God bless them all.”

That image and the notion that they were ALL gone hit me hard. This is how I remember them – at the height of the late 70’s/early 80’s. The Greek community in my hometown was small but mighty. Greeks are a passionate people. They work hard and play harder. They are generous and loving to an embarrassing degree. They were a significant part of my childhood and my young adulthood. They were part of my big, fat Greek wedding.

I have very specific memories of each of them.

Thea Cia always seemed so glamorous to me. She was tall and had a million dollar smile. She was also a talented artist. Her wedding gift to us was a hand-painted enhancement of our invitation. She framed it for us. It is still on display in our living room.

Uncle Lacky was my brother’s Godfather, which is a pretty big deal in the Greek church. I remember him as a fast-walker and always having a smile on his face. We had many good times with he and Thea Helene in their home on Academy Circle.

Uncle Jimmy was dapper. He was always well-dressed and looked quite “Hollywood” to me. When I was working at a family restaurant in Fenwick Island one summer, he came in for breakfast early one morning. I was thrilled to see him. He left me a $20 tip on an order of pancakes.

And then, Uncle Manuel…he was very special. He was a character. He was Santa. He had a crushing handshake. He would shake your hand vigorously until your arm looked like a rubber band. Many times, I would run and hide because I didn’t want to shake his hand!

He was an imposing figure – literally a giant in my 10-year old eyes. He was tall and broad and had a booming, yet smooth voice. His laugh was hearty. And his heart was pure gold. I wouldn’t realize his pure genuineness until I was much older.

Just like all of his siblings, Uncle Manuel was a kind and generous man. He visited my father (another Greek giant), who is severely infirmed, weekly and played a penny game with him until he could no longer do it. He brought the priest to give my Dad communion. Beyond the church, he was a successful restaurateur and a mindful, serving citizen of the community. And he was a proud family man, raising five very wonderful kids with his wife, Thea Florine, and now many grandchildren.

It’s always hard to say goodbye, even if it has been a long and well-lived life. The loss of this “Greatest Generation” is significant, and I don’t know that we’ll ever see another one quite like it. I like to think I’ve learned well from these giants – how to work hard, the value of a dollar, the importance of family and integrity, and doing things the right way, not necessarily the easy way.

I sat in my hometown church and reflected on Uncle Manuel and others who have passed. I saw more giants (some of whom I hadn’t seen in 20 years) and they embraced me warmly. I heard the familiar hymns and chants, and smelled the incense. I was comforted by the ceremony and tradition of the service, and I smiled. I thought of how much my church has made me the person I am today. How the people of that church impacted me. And how maybe I could be a giant in someone’s eyes someday, too. I should be so lucky.

To Be A Better Daughter

Sometimes, we get so caught up in how WE feel and how hard something is for US, we forget about those around us. Or worse, we cast blame and aggravation on them for our stress, overlooking how they may feel. And then, sometimes, something happens that puts the proverbial mirror in front of your face, and you don’t much like what you see. That happened to me today.

After a fun and celebratory weekend at the Apple Blossom festival in my hometown, I spent an extra night with my Mom to take her to the Doctor the next morning. After all, she’s confused and forgetful and probably won’t remember what to ask the Doctor or what he says in return. I dutifully agree to take her. It’s what good daughters do.

We leave early (2 hours before her appt) to ensure her lab results will be ready in time. On the way, she tells me again to avoid this one stoplight, which exit to take, where to turn and where to park, even though I already know. Sigh. Her lab work is completed quickly and we have 90 minutes to kill. We grab breakfast in the coffee shop. She offers me half of her sweet roll, three times. I decline, three times. Sigh.

The nurse calls us back – weighs, measures, checks BP, etc. – all the while conversing pleasantly with Mom. The Doctor examines Mom, reviews meds, asks questions, and then turns to chat with her. This (and the 3-word test) is obviously an important part of assessing her mental health and well-being.

It’s direct and it’s raw. Watching your mother become emotional (and, yes, cry) when she responds to the Doctor’s question –  “How is Tom doing?” – is a humbling thing. In that instant, I saw her not as my fretting and forgetful mother who can exasperate me; rather, I saw her as an aging and tired woman who is deeply saddened and stressed to see her love in such an awful state. She is scared and lonely and hates getting old. I now understand this on a deeper level than I did just an hour ago.

Daddy’s infirmity has, subconsciously, superseded my concerns about Mom’s health. His obvious physical decline overshadows Mom’s mental state because, truly, she seems fine – a little flighty and forgetful, but fine. She’s not. She is watching the man she loves, her partner of 50+ years, fall prey to a horrific, insidious disease. The stress must be unbearable. She compensates by being pleasant and funny, and doting on her dog, and engaging anyone who will speak to her.

What the hell is wrong with me? How can I not see her challenges? How can I possibly twist her eccentricities into something that’s all about me? While I may not intend it to be awful and selfish…there it is.

Watching other people interact with my mother – treating her with kindness and patience – illuminates for me some unflattering shortcomings as a daughter.  Seeing her profound emotional reaction at her Doctor’s appt, yanks me back to where I need to be for her. I need to be present and kind and unyielding in my support of her. I need to clean out her fridge without admonishment. I need to purge her closet with jovial reminiscings. I need to be grateful for my time with her.

So, we go to lunch. We have a glass of wine and sit in the sunshine. We have a lovely, lovely afternoon together. I have the same conversation with her multiple times and smile; I answer the same question 3 times without changing the cadence of my voice; I listen to familiar stories with renewed engagement; and, I thank the Lord that she is still with me, that she knows me, and that she loves me, in spite of my dumbassery.