Uncle Pete

My Uncle Pete died last week. Of course I'm sad. While he lived a pretty long life, you always hope it could be longer. He outlived my Dad—his kid brother—by almost ten years. He cheated death a few years ago. Have you ever heard of someone under hospice care to recover and live a few more years? I have. I saw it. Uncle Pete lived to spend more time with his wife and kids and to play some golf and hang out with his buddies and play some poker. And to see his last two grandchildren—twins—born.

He worked hard his whole life, even moving his family back and forth across the country looking for work. The pictures in my grandmothers house of Pete in his uniform during WWII were the only proof I have that he was in the military. He never talked about it, at least not to me. He was married to the same woman til his last day and he raised four kids. His life was visited with sadness and unfortunately, some tragedy. But it also had joy. From what I saw, his greatest joy was in the form of family. He had a bunch of grandkids—mostly girls. That seemed about right for him. Seems like a typical story of a son of immigrants.

But I will always remember something remarkable about Uncle Pete. His four kids were special to him and he loved them all very much. That was obvious. His only daughter, Diane, was the apple of his eye. He probably would not deny she was his favorite. But it was his relationship with his third son, Joey, that I will never forget.

Joey was a few years older than me. I have a picture or two of him walking, but I only remember him in a wheelchair. From what I pieced together as a kid, Joey had a muscular dystrophy and developmental limitations. He was bound to one of those heavy steel wheelchairs his whole life. I saw fun, family times with Joey. I was not there for doctor's visits, bath time, etc. What I saw was a happy Joey. A smiling Joey. A lovable Joey. A Joey that made friends and made them smile. Now that I am a Dad, I know darned well that Joey must have had his moments. But not from what I saw.

From Uncle Pete and Aunt Louise, I never heard a grumble. Never a complaint. I never heard them short with Joey. They just took life as it came. But many times around Joey, I witnessed amazing, simple acts of love. To be with the kids, my Uncle Pete would carry Joey down a narrow staircase to our basement. Not just when Joey was a little kid, but when he was a teenager. I'll bet that by then, Joey was four or five inches taller than his Dad and probably weighed the same. But as carefully and as gently as can be, Pete walk down those stairs with his son in his arms.

Pete's other three kids were perfect. It's very easy to love kids when then aren't a problem. But a sick kid? Different story. That's a trial by fire. Lots of people crack. They leave either physically or emotionally. But I saw something else. I saw the resilient character of my Uncle.

It was a simple act. He did not put his life on the line. They don't award bronze stars for such acts of love. Nope. While it was not monumental, it was one of the greatest expressions of love I have ever seen. It has stuck with me for over 35 years.

Uncle Pete, you will always be in my heart and memories.