Personal Tales

Life has an interesting way of throwing you curve balls. As I noted on Friday, my in-laws celebrated their 50th anniversary this past weekend. Family and friends surrounded the happy pair on this day, some who traveled half the country to be here. It's always good to see people with a history get together and interact with each other--especially when they're able to put aside their quibbles for a while and just enjoy each other's company. The crowd completely consumed the cake (which was oh, so good), the kids were waterlogged from spending the day in the pool, and a maybe-not-so-friendly game of water polo erupted once adults were thrown in the mix. The stories flowed with the beer, and the laughter was genuine, as were the tears. Tears of happiness, one would assume, and perhaps a few shed in awe that a couple was able to make it for a half a century. For their troubles they have five children, five in-laws, ten grandchildren and perhaps a new wife (or two!) to add to the family tree, for the two oldest grand boys both have girlfriends and we sure do see of lot of those young ladies.

And yet on that joyous day, I discovered that my uncle died in the wee hours of the morning. He was sick. Sick from stage four cancer that was just diagnosed a month ago, sick from smoking like a chimney for decades, sick from alcoholism that took control of him years ago, sick from the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father, and sick from Vietnam--a war he never really stopped fighting, as anyone who was within five feet of him after he started drinking could tell you.

I wasn't terribly close to this uncle, but his presence weaves solidly through my own fabric of life. I was the flower girl in his wedding when I was six years old. The man was absolutely crude but could come up with a Cajun accent so dead on he could send you to the bayou faster than you could peel a boiled crawfish. He was at all the family parties, always the one to continue family lore--often about my grandfather, who was a character and died years ago. He entertained us all on many an occasion. He played the french horn back in the day and actually marched in the LSU band. He won medals for gallantry in the war. I found out earlier today he was one of my younger cousin's favorite uncle.

So as I sit tonight, a bittersweet mood has descended upon me. Lots of family this week under planned and required circumstances. Lots of time (but really, no time at all) to see those people who were forced upon you either by marriage or birth and whom you choose to love despite their quirks. You choose to love them because they're family. Warts and all, they're the only family you get.

Life passes you by, faster and faster and faster she goes. She lets your kids grow up before your eyes and hardly allows you to remember the day they were born. She lets 50 years get away from you in a wink. She lets you celebrate, but she makes you mourn. And reflect. And never, never when it's convenient.

So, here's to you P and J for 50 years.

And to my uncle K, who I suspect was not a happy man and I know was not a well man. He didn't make it to see 65, he barely got to retire, and he didn't get to celebrate a 50 year anniversary with his own wife. But he was once active in the community, loved his wife and three kids and got to spend time with two grand babies before he left us. May he finally be at peace. ->