My Uncle Rich

Three years ago this week, I lost someone who was as influential as anyone in my life.  My uncle passed away after an incredibly valiant fight against leukemia.  His first diagnosis didn't offer much hope, but we as a family locked arms and decided that we would help my uncle fight this dastardly illness.  My uncle lived a colorful life, every day a new experience sometimes walking on the edge of a razor blade and sometimes nestled into a blanket falling asleep on the couch with his dog curled up with him a can of Busch on the end table.

My Uncle Rich was the last son of my grandmother Rose,  A hardened woman from tough immigrant stock, she raised my uncle and his brother and sister without the help of their father. My grandfather died of alcoholism when Rich was an infant. As the story goes, he died during DT's while holding his baby, my uncle. Being a last child and knowing that spoiling a last child seems to be a birthright, my uncle had it easier than his sisters, my mom and my aunt. His older brother also had life pretty difficult.  My grandmother worked very early mornings in a bakery in a tough part of East St. Louis to make ends meet and keep the small two bedroom house she owned near Jones' Park.  That same house that Rich and my Aunt Diana would move into and where my cousin Michelle was born.

Making sure that all of her children had a strong Catholic upbringing was very important to my Grandma Rose.  The kids went to Catholic School and on to Catholic HS where my uncle tried every way possible to get out. Eventually leaving school to join the service, he did have his share of "stories of youth" that I so loved to hear him tell.  

I was the youngest of 4 kids in a blended family. My sister and brothers were all about my uncle's age. It was a  natural fit for Rich and I to be close. I shadowed my young uncle all the time.  His sister who as a young woman took care of him and my family would make sure that we were fed and that we didn't leave anything on the table. She knew the difficult time of growing up with a single working parent.  Rich would always find a way to distract my aunt so I could ditch a plate of beef liver or some strange concoction that Rosalie would make for us. She would return and the plate would be cleaned with her believing that I ate all the hideous food at the table.  My uncle would wink at me behind her back and later would give me a cookie or something sweet knowing I would be hungry from not eating supper.

My uncle and his friend George were inseparable. Even to his death, George was there.  A lanky kid, George was the natural sidekick to my handsome uncle with his bright eyes and winning smile. Neither minded if " Keithy" would come along on various jaunts and escapades. He once said that girls thought the four year old ( me) was cute, and they would want to meet this young man who loyally looked after his nephew.  A favorite story of mine was when I four, I was standing between my uncle and George in the front seat of my grandmother's car.  I said, " Gee Uncle Richie you drive good."  Moments later, he ran into a tree and I quickly said, " Gee  Uncle Richie, you' drive bad."  Certainly corny at best, but was a story I heard so many times in my life as he and I reminisced.

Growing up with my father was a difficult time. My father drank way too much and there was often anger and fighting in my house.  I wanted to live with my uncle.  He was smart to say, you spend school years there and you can come spend time with me in the summer.  Little did his new wife know that she would have this "other child" in her life as well as the one she was soon to deliver.

The summers I spent at my Uncle's house were full of life, and I was in heaven.  He was a charming man, funny, loving, self righteous, devoted to his causes believing that justice was only seen through his eyes. He worked damned hard during his weeks finishing concrete highways and often drank too much when he was home.  He was as loyal as you would want  and would help anyone with anything that was asked of him.

The summer I spent babysitting my cousin Michelle was a summer that made a lifetime. In a small house in Cahokia, Illinois haunted by the family that was murdered years before and protected by the spirit of my Uncle Sonny ( My Mom and Rich's brother who died many years before),  I spent part of my 19th summer after college.  My cousin Phil and I  would drive ride with Michelle standing the way my uncle and George did with me. We would coerce her to say dirty things and repeat them to adults.  My aunt would shake her head, my uncle trying hard to discipline us found it hard to do through the laugher.

As my cousin grew, we continued to grow closer and closer.  To this day, she feels more like a little sister than a cousin.  My uncle still held this special place in my heart and head.  The most important events in my life have been shared with my uncle.  As I grew older and more involved in my own life, our time spent was less and less. Upon his 40th birthday, I surprised him at his party at St. Albert's. I arrived and what a joy to see a tear in his eye as he was so excited to see me as well.

Upon the news of my uncle's illness, we were convinced he could beat this. He survived a disastrous car accident in Europe in the  60's, a dangerous blow to the face by another Richard ( both his name and a euphemism),  and various incidents as a union man that could have led to dangerous situations.  We knew he could over come this as well.  My cousin and I were on the phone constantly with updates. She did all kinds of research learning about this kind of cancer and how it manifests and how is grows.  I would call my uncle when ever there was the chance to say keep fighting and I love you, Uncle Rich.  It felt like I couldn't say it enough given the probable outcomes of aggressive cancers.  He fought hard. He gave it everything.  He didn't want to, he was scared and sometimes he felt death was so much easier than the fight.

My family had a wonderful opportunity to spend a week with him the summer before he died.  My sons adored their Uncle Rich as much as their Dad adored him.  My wife took to him the first time they met.  That summer, my sons were grown men, and we got spend some relaxing time with him and my aunt.  They remembered the first fish they caught off his dock behind his house and how he would make them laugh and try to be stern as well. He and they laughed as they watched some trivia game show in the living room.  He was spending time on the computer and was talking about trips and fishing, and it was an incredible moment!

The news came from Michelle on cold somber day in late January three years ago.  We knew that he wouldn't survive even after marrow transplants given by his sister, by the continued search for new avenues of treatment by his doctors, and by the constant prayers of his family and close friends.  That day is like a memory caught in a glass bubble.  I remember little of what happened other than a part of me died that day as well.  The fight had been valiant and long, and in the end, my uncle passed from this life peacefully.  I wish I had been there.  Those are moments that mark our lives,  He had given so much to me in my life often without even knowing that he had given.  

My Uncle Rich bought me this Coca Cola Santa when I was four. He was a check out boy at a neighborhood grocery store.  Every Christmas, Santa comes out and the memories flood back.

Today, this has been an indulgence for me.  I think about him all the time.  I feel his presence all the time, his pride for me, his pushing and prodding, his gladness in my relationship to my cousin and her family, and his love. 

Over and out

Keith