The Man Who Came to Dinner


Why is my manicure  DRY ENOUGH to type a new post, but not dry enough to post some bills????? Hmmmmmm….

Funny that you have time to do the things you long to do (if available to you) but never enough time to do the things you distaste?

I go back to work tomorrow. I took a few days off to be with my parents. They were visiting from California. Big Brooklyn Jews, with the striking accents and the dramatic hand gestures. My Mother, so warm and funny, seemed to be loved by strangers wherever she’d go…

My dad is still in Florida. His Brother is in a coma and has just had a stroke. They found him on the floor of his apartment. I worry about my Uncle, and about my Father, who was orphaned at 30. His Father died of a stroke so I imagine this weighs very heavily on him. 

My Uncle is one of those difficult, eccentric men that you WANT to love because he is your “family”. He has eyes like my father, and because of this, I tried desperately to love him. Still, he often said or did things that were hurtful or cut deeply, and he was sometimes cruel toward my Mother. My Mother who every stranger in the world seems to love.

I remember he once asked me if I was a lesbian, because I was still single at 29. This, he said, as he took his dentures out and placed them face up on my kitchen table, so he could enjoy a slice of Brooklyn pizza. There’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian, had that been my choice, but to be accused of this by a hairy, toothless man in my single-girl kitchen was just too much!

I want to love him. And part of me does bacause he is my Grandmother’s son, and I know she is my guardian angel. I guess we make some interesting, celestial love triangle. The Grandma I never knew, my Uncle, and me….

It’s complicated….

I was single (by choice) for so long, and I remember that universal fear. Something happens, you slip or are hurt, and because you live alone you think you might not be found for days. And g-d forbid if you have pets! Hungry pets, I won’t go into the details…

I love my Uncle because I know he meant well (most of the time). He just did not know how to “say” it like everyone else. It was as if a streaky window separated him from my family. He was always on the outside of the window. And it was stormy out there…

I am closer by blood to my Uncle than my own husband. My husband who becomes more my soul mate every day. My Uncle, found on the floor of his apartment after suffering a stroke. My Uncle, still in a coma, having a seizure every time they try to pull him out of it. My Uncle, who loved me, paralyzed on his left side.

Why do I feel so angry?

 

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One response to this post.

  1. Posted by lifebytheday on October 28, 2009 at 10:44 am

    Thanks for putting together this group – sounds like a great idea! P.S. check out my blog for an award nom 😉

    Reply

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