Our Uncle Paul
We lost our beloved Uncle Paul on 12/12/12. The date is the kind of thing he would have appreciated, though it is hard to think of that now. He was a true original; a wonderful man and a pillar of our extended family. He is with Gabriel (1 year old) and Nicholas (6 years old) in this picture.
Uncle Paul is my husband’s mother’s brother. I don’t remember when I first met Uncle Paul and Aunt Rosemary, but I expect it was shortly after I began dating my husband, when we were invited to one of many extended family gatherings. Neither my parents nor my husband’s parents live near us, but we were lucky enough to have Uncle Paul in the Bay Area.
Uncle Paul was at the center of a very large family; a true patriarch, to whom nothing could ever have been more important than his family. To hear him tell it, it was love at first sight with Aunt Rosemary, literally from the moment he first saw her. I’ve not met that many people who were so obviously in love, even after over fifty years, despite the challenges of raising a family and her death from Alzheimer’s disease. Together they had five children, thirteen grandchildren, two great-grandchildren (so far) and many, many nieces and nephews.
They hosted an annual Easter Egg Hunt in their backyard for the entire extended family at which Uncle Paul would dress up as the Easter Bunny and lead the hunt. I did not fully appreciate the Easter Egg Hunt before we had our own kids; once we did, I realized how amazing it was to have a place where they could run around freely with all of the other kids and where I never had to worry about where they were or what they were doing. A place where we were family.
After Aunt Rosemary died, Uncle Paul continued the tradition. He also always invited us for Thanksgiving and Christmas; during the years when we did not travel, it was wonderful to know that we always had a place to go. There were often 25-30 people at those dinners -- the dining room table would extend way out into the living room -- and there was always room for one more -- or ten.
My parents and three brothers were visiting for the holidays last year (in 2011) and Uncle Paul invited all nine of us for Christmas dinner. My brother Dave said that the minute he stepped into Uncle Paul’s house he felt like he had entered a “vortex of awesomeness.” That cracks me up: not only is it so totally the kind of thing that my brother would say, but it so accurately describes Uncle Paul. His and Aunt Rosemary’s house had a seventies feel to it, with fake wood paneling in the den and plates mounted on the wall in the dining room. it was extraordinary only in the warmth inside, the welcome we always received and the way it expanded to take in anyone in need of a home.
Uncle Paul made his living in the technology industry -- among other things he led the design & implementation of the Medical Information System (MIS), a hospital healthcare system that is still in use today -- and one of the highlights of these large family dinners was a lottery system. Uncle Paul rigged up two large flat screen monitors high on the wall in the dining room which displayed a roulette wheel lottery program he’d written, coded with everyone’s name (who was in attendance.) Every two minutes the wheel went round and there was a new winner. The prize: a lottery ticket (or a small mystery gift.) It’s hard to describe the fun, festive atmosphere or the way in which such a simple device made everyone feel a part of the celebration.
Uncle Paul had a refrigerator in the garage that was always stocked with soda and drinks; anyone could go and help him or herself at any time. He loved electronic gadgets and would always have a singing bass or “Buck,” one of those mounted, motion-activated deer heads on the wall, waiting to surprise anyone who entered the room. His Christmas tree was motorized. I remember visiting when my youngest son was less than a year old and just starting to crawl. He was fascinated by the tree and would reach for an ornament on the lower branches only to have it rotate slowly away from him. He would fall flat on his face and just couldn’t figure out why he was never able to reach the ornament
Uncle Paul loved kids and shared a special bond with both of my sons - as well as his own grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He had an amazing sense of humor and was an expert punster. He used to tell silly jokes and then pay each grandchild a dollar when they laughed; I don’t know how he carried all of those $1 bills in his wallet. In his later years, even after he was diagnosed with cancer, the 1st Sunday of every month was “Donut Day.” Uncle Paul would drive around to everyone's home - some fifteen to twenty addresses, all across the South Bay -- to deliver everyone’s favorite donut. My son Nicholas always got two donuts, just because Uncle Paul thought he was great.
I was lucky enough to have been able to visit Uncle Paul the week before he died. He was very tired and had to lay down for much of the visit, but he was himself up to the very end. He was laughing and telling stories, including one I’d not heard before: he and Aunt Rosemary were in Britain and had gone for high tea at a high falutin’ place. At one point he asked the waiter how much something cost, and the waiter replied, “Do not concern yourself with that, Sir. We will just add it to the bill.” Uncle Paul replied, “I will concern myself with how much it costs first!”
Uncle Paul was diagnosed with lung cancer in April of 2012. He went through several rounds of chemotherapy; after Thanksgiving we learned that the latest round had not done any good and that he had been given just 1-2 months to live. He died less than two weeks later. I still cannot process the fact that he is no longer here, especially when he was so much a part of our lives.
There is some comfort in the fact that he lived a long life - he died at 82 - filled with family and friends and love and laughter. And in that he died at home in his sleep and did not suffer long. And in that he was never alone at the end; one of his own children was with him around the clock and he had a steady stream of visitors. He was a devout Christian and believed in an afterlife; if there is one, he is living it now, together again with Aunt Rosemary, the love of his life.
But there is no one now to deliver donuts now on the first Sunday of every month, who might bring an extra one, just because he thinks you’re great. Or to host the extended family get-togethers at a house with a yard big enough to hide hundreds of Easter eggs. Or to rig up a lottery system and welcome every last member of the family -- and their families in turn -- to dinner.
The vortex of awesomeness has closed: Uncle Paul is no longer in this world and we miss him so very much.