Losing someone close to you is like learning to use deodorant; It's an important phenomenon that every individual has to face at some point. The catch is, some face the experience much later than others. Once a loved one is gone, there is no going back. There is no tunnel leading to the tense hours before the tragedy. Gone means gone; once the overbearing wind steals the kite, there is no way of getting it back.
My father’s brother was a happy man. A unique man. He was the stroke of paint on a canvas that didn’t quite fit but gave the art piece as a whole a bit of character. In a family as big as mine, he was the relative that everybody knew. The one that everybody loved and had some sort of unexplainable connection to. He was my uncle Dennis. Although everybody seemed to know him, I like to think I had a special connection with him.
Uncle Dennis came over to my house every Thanksgiving. It was like magic- even if we didn’t hear from him for months before the holiday, we could still expect his loud knocks on the front door much too early on Thanksgiving morning. It became a game; a betting game between my brothers and me.
“I think Uncle Dennis will be here in two minutes.”
“I bet he’ll be here before the cinnamon rolls are ready.”
“I bet he’ll get here right after they finish cooking.”
The latter was correct this past Thanksgiving. His steps in the driveway set off bells in my ears, and I ran out front to see his contagious smile spread across his face the same way my mom spread icing on the cinnamon rolls. I remember him sitting down and eating the freshly baked pastries as if he hadn’t eaten in years. As if those rolls were the most wonderful things he had ever tasted.
He sat in the old wooden chair with his feet flat on the ground. He ate. He sang the words to a song he didn’t know, like he had the correct lyrics on the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t quite spit them out in time. At the end of the night, before he left, he promised to be at my next dance performance. He told me I was his favorite, but not to tell my brothers. That single phrase tied a string from my heart to his.
Who would have guessed he would’ve cut the string a few weeks later. Who would’ve thought that would be the last time I saw him. Eating, singing, and tying temporary strings.