I remember sitting in the living room with him, and thinking, "I really love this man." And often I would see him looking at me with a twinkle in his eye, and I got the feeling that he loved me, too. When did it happen? When did his disdain turn to love? I don't know.To my recollection, the first time I saw Uncle Bill was when I was seven. He was in the navy during World War II. Often on his leaves he would use our place for a stop over. I am sure our home would not have been his choice, had he had any other place to go. My dad, his oldest brother, was not his choice of a friend (or even a brother!) Besides that, he didn't like kids. And there were six of us, ranging in age from twelve down to two.
When we children saw Uncle Bill coming down the street we would jump up and down, unable to contain our glee. We thought he looked so handsome in his navy suit. The minute he would enter the house we clambered for his attention, wanting to feel his shiny buttons and touch his crisp navy blue uniform. He would jump back in disdain, yelling: "Get away from me you lot, with your sticky fingers." Then he would take out his handkerchief and brush off his uniform, escaping into the kitchen to where my mom was—he did like Mom--where he knew we children were forbidden to go, unless invited.
I don't remember much more than that about Uncle Bill during my growing up years. And throughout my teens I saw him rarely. Whenever I did see him, it was as if I didn't exist.
It was in 1989 at a family wedding that Uncle Bill first met my husband. He had volunteered to drive Uncle home to Calgary. During the trip, out of the blue, Uncle implored us to come and live with him. We were flabbergasted. His health was failing fast, and his care worker had told him, if he were to stay in his own home he needed someone with him. We had no ties, except for our dog and two cats, to which he had no objection. A week later we moved in with him.
The next year and a half was a series of ups and downs. I think I could say that it was one of the most difficult periods in my life. But it was also one of the best. I remember sitting in the living room with him, and thinking, "I really love this man." And often I would see him looking at me with a twinkle in his eye, and I got the feeling that he loved me, too. When did it happen? When did his disdain turn to love? I don't know.
I remember looking out the kitchen window while I was doing dishes and thinking: "How did I end up here? When I was a child he didn't even know I existed, except for my sticky fingers. And now I have become his caregiver."
For a year and a half we saw Uncle Bill deteriorate. He suffered from a strange ailment, Addison's Bronze disease, which amongst other things, caused sudden mood swings. We were never sure what would cause his next temper flare, or at which of us it would be directed. Always, though, he would try to get back into our good books by taking us out for a meal.
I am not sure how we got through that trying time, but I know that God was with us. We were able to have some good talks with our uncle. Although he liked to discuss Bible doctrines, he had bitterness in his heart that exploded right in the middle of the discussion. As time went on we noticed his bitterness melting slowly. He would sit with tears in his eyes, asking us if we thought God could forgive him for his wicked ways, away back when he was young. I know God helped us show him that forgiveness was for anyone who asked.
The night before he died he asked me if I would sit with him and read Psalm 23. He fell asleep while I was reading it. I am sure that God hovered that night over his bed, gently leading him through the valley of death. I went to my bed at two o'clock in the morning, and awoke with a start, much later than I usually get up. I rushed to his bed. He was breathing his last. I will never forget the experience of holding someone in my arms while he passes over the River of Jordan.
In Memory of Uncle Bill, I wrote this story-poem: He Died In MY Arms
© Helen Dowd
