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Part Two Point Five of Three: Plaque for my Uncle Tom
It's a bad month to be a Salsbury. Mom just called to let me know that my father's brother Tom had a major heart attack, and died after being taken to the hospital.
This is the uncle I just saw two weeks ago during my father's last days, and Tom had no history of heart trouble that my mother knew of. I didn't know him very well at all, so I feel comfortable cranking out a quick Plaque for him while I continue thinking about my father's post. I confess I harbored some selfish thoughts as my father lay dying, curious as to why Uncle Tom with his Pall Malls was still walkin' around when Dad was ten years younger and didn't smoke.
Uncle Tom was crusty. I have, in recent years, begun developing an affection for crusty people.
Once in Idaho, he stopped by our bedroom to wish Rachal and me good night.
I answered, "Good night, sir."
Tom: "What do you mean by all this 'sir' stuff?"
Me: "Sorry, old man. Sleep well."
Tom: "That's better!"
This is also the guy who, when he spent the first day at the hospital with his brother, got more of a rise out of Dad than anyone else could, by leaning over and telling him to wake up and knock this crap off, or Tom would go home and kill his goddamn dogs. It was a sibling-rivalry-mean thing to say, yes, but it got Dad's attention when it needed to be gotten. Besides, Dad gave Tom a black eye once, when Dad was eight and Tom on leave from the military. Tom had to go explain that one to his squad mates, and maybe he was still carrying a grudge fifty-odd years later :>
I know Tom was a comfort to my mother during his visit -- and to me, too. I learned some more things about my family that I didn't know, and I think I'm gonna be hungry for stories like that in the years to come. No long drawn-out illness for Tom -- he was quite ambulatory when I saw him, and had only recently retired from truck-driving because his night vision had gotten worse. But no time for his closer family members to say farewell to him, either -- and from my selfish chair, I think I prefer my father's method of departure.
Sweet dreams, old man.
This is the uncle I just saw two weeks ago during my father's last days, and Tom had no history of heart trouble that my mother knew of. I didn't know him very well at all, so I feel comfortable cranking out a quick Plaque for him while I continue thinking about my father's post. I confess I harbored some selfish thoughts as my father lay dying, curious as to why Uncle Tom with his Pall Malls was still walkin' around when Dad was ten years younger and didn't smoke.
Uncle Tom was crusty. I have, in recent years, begun developing an affection for crusty people.
Once in Idaho, he stopped by our bedroom to wish Rachal and me good night.
I answered, "Good night, sir."
Tom: "What do you mean by all this 'sir' stuff?"
Me: "Sorry, old man. Sleep well."
Tom: "That's better!"
This is also the guy who, when he spent the first day at the hospital with his brother, got more of a rise out of Dad than anyone else could, by leaning over and telling him to wake up and knock this crap off, or Tom would go home and kill his goddamn dogs. It was a sibling-rivalry-mean thing to say, yes, but it got Dad's attention when it needed to be gotten. Besides, Dad gave Tom a black eye once, when Dad was eight and Tom on leave from the military. Tom had to go explain that one to his squad mates, and maybe he was still carrying a grudge fifty-odd years later :>
I know Tom was a comfort to my mother during his visit -- and to me, too. I learned some more things about my family that I didn't know, and I think I'm gonna be hungry for stories like that in the years to come. No long drawn-out illness for Tom -- he was quite ambulatory when I saw him, and had only recently retired from truck-driving because his night vision had gotten worse. But no time for his closer family members to say farewell to him, either -- and from my selfish chair, I think I prefer my father's method of departure.
Sweet dreams, old man.