Uncle Joe

My Uncle Joe died tonight.

He battled cancer since a terminal diagnosis at the beginning of last year. 

I wasn't able to say goodbye in person, but I did write him a letter a couple of weeks ago. I included a small watercolor I did of a leaf I found at the cottage.

 

I think of my uncle on every visit to the cottage. He was its caretaker for many years since he was in closest proximity. When my grandparents were alive, it was Uncle Joe who regularly checked in on the place for them. He knew the ins and outs of closing the cottage up for winter and opening it again in the spring.

My grandparents built it back around 1980. My grandfather died in 1985. My grandmother died 25 years later.

In my mind cottage was a vacation home for both of my grandparents, but I suppose it was really my grandma's, since I'm just now realizing how little time my grandpa got to spend there. It's filled with things he built. How we use it is based more on my grandma's example. It's a place for reading and eating and enjoying family in a spot surrounded by trees. 

We've changed very little about the cottage since we bought it in 2011. It still has the TV my husband and I bought Gram so she could watch both VHS tapes and DVDs. Her recipe cards are still in the kitchen. We still use her Spite and Malice deck when we play cards at the big table like we did with her on summer visits. We had a big family reunion there when Gram turned 80. She used to plant begonias out front because it was the one thing the deer wouldn't eat. The cottage is the only place I still retain a sense of both my grandparents clearly.

After my grandma died, the cottage was left to my mom and both my uncles. None of them were in a position to care for it, so it went up for sale. I was so sad that my husband decided we should try to buy it. We struck a deal where we paid Joe his portion up front, and then arranged payments to John and my mom. I'm very glad we've kept it in the family. It's my kids' favorite place.

Joe told me what improvements they added when they put the cottage on the market. They removed the dishwasher (which had an obnoxious tendency to flood the kitchen), and added overhead fans (which I'm sure my grandma would have loved). We've since replaced the bed on the main floor, and this summer we put on a new roof. My grandparents also bought some bad floor lamps that I finally decided should go, but otherwise, it feels the same as when I used to spend summers there in junior high and beyond.

Joe once suggested it could be nice to turn the screened-in porch into a three-season room, and add a sliding door to it from the inside. My grandparents' friends down the road had something like that, and he thought it could work at our cottage. I agreed. We've hired a contractor to do just that before the spring. 

The plan for Thanksgiving is (was?) to have it at the cottage this year. We have all the food, and as I am writing this, Mona is in the process of fetching her siblings from their respective colleges in different corners of the state.

But then Joe took a turn for the worse tonight. I talked to my mom who was on her way with her brother to try and reach Joe before he passed. They didn't make it. They weren't sure what would be happening next.

I told her any and everyone there was welcome to join us at the cottage. We could also just bring all the food to her in Detroit instead. I don't know what to offer, but I will do whatever I can that could bring anyone a little peace.

The loss of Uncle Joe is terrible.

He was smart and funny and kind.

He reminded many of us of my grandfather, in that he had a similar deep voice and a large comforting presence.

He had a mustache, and a famously hairy back.

Joe told great stories.

With him, you always felt safe. 

When I was growing up, we went to Flint for nearly every Thanksgiving, and I remember Joe trying to keep the dogs (Peanut and Seymour) from jumping on me and my brothers. He used to chuck a treat into the basement to get Seymour in particular to go down there when he was too much. Joe also once built additional height to their backyard fence to keep that dog from escaping, and pretty much the moment he finished, Seymour sailed right over.

In high school biology we were asked once as part of an assignment to name the most masculine man we knew, and I wrote "Uncle Joe." My friend Gabby didn't know what to put, so she wrote "Kory's Uncle Joe." Ever since, when Joe has come up in conversation, Gabby will nod and say, "The most masculine man I know."

It was always a great treat at Christmas or Easter to see my Uncle Joe and Uncle John together. They were so damn funny as a pair.

We did over twenty years of New Year's Eve celebrations with Joe and his family. The first themed one was when he and my Aunt Laura arrived with a homemade Wheel of Fortune setup, where Laura wore a tie, and Joe was decked out in a feather boa to play Vanna White. Another year we cast him as Captain Kirk in a Star Trek play. He happily rolled with whatever we wanted to do.

Joe taught history at Flint Central and coached the football team. My family was not a sports family, but Joe told me the thing about high school football is it could be anything. You might be able to predict the outcomes of professional or college games, but never high school. 

If I had to pick one moment that best encapsulates Uncle Joe for me, it would be the time my grandma slipped and fell rounding the corner from her kitchen to her dining room. Joe and I rushed over to where she was on the floor. She was shaken, and we were scared, but once we determined she was okay, we relaxed a little. Then Joe looked her in the eye and said, "Mom, the important question is: Can you still bake?" She laughed, assured him yes, she could still bake, and then everything was fine. Joe wanted to help make things fine. 

Joe loved his family.

We loved him.

I miss him.

The world is fundamentally lesser without him.

I'm glad any pain he suffered is over. 

 

Goodbye, Joe. Thank you for being my uncle.