A Man Named Dave

extended pause on her end, I knew I had pushed too hard, but I also knew that the simplest request was always met with a wall of resistance. After several more gentle nudges, Grandmother finally relented. I hung up the phone feeling completely drained. Part of me felt I should mail Grandmother a card, send her some flowers, or maybe take some military leave to visit her. I had been outside the family fold for so long that I wasn’t sure what to do or how my intentions would be received. For years I had wanted to do the right thing and make up for years of loss. As always, a blanket of guilt covered me and I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Stepping outside the booth, I took in a few deep breaths to clear my head. Yes, I told myself, Grandmother was obviously having a hard time, but I had gotten so wrapped up in her grief that I almost forgot about my uncle Dan.
    Thinking of our conversation, I realized Grandmother had said little of Aunt Jane and how her children were coping. When I had asked about my brothers, the question was brushed aside. Like Mother, the center of attention had shifted to Grandmother and her anguish.
    Speaking with Aunt Jane was completely different than with Grandmother just minutes before. She was more concerned about my feelings than her loss. Trying to take Aunt Jane’s mind off Uncle Dan, I told her of my trip to Egypt and my hopes of going to college to make something of myself. “You already have, David. Dan was proud of you, and all of us here are, too. Don’t push too hard and just live life. Take time and enjoy a little.” As we spoke back and forth, I remembered Uncle Dan as a hard-nosed man who had lived as the ultimate outdoor sportsman, and who also drank as much as Mother and Father. I remembered as a child looking deep into his eyes, and sensing that Dan was like Mother – a person with a volatile temper that could erupt at any moment. As Aunt Jane opened up to me a little more on the phone, I felt that her marriage to Dan and the lifestyle that went with it was not a smooth one. “It wasn’t easy for anyone back then, David. Back then things were different … the drinking, everything. It was considered the norm back then; ‘The days of wine and roses.’”
    “I’m not trying to pry,” I asserted, “I just want to know so … so I don’t do the same as …”
    I could almost see Aunt Jane nodding in approval. “I understand. Don’t be too judgmental. Like I said, it was a different era back then; for your parents, and their parents before them. Whatever problems we had were swept under the rug. Family skeletons were kept locked in the closet. A lot of us had high hopes that situations we dealt with or how we were raised wouldn’t be passed on to our children. It was hard on all of us. If you children can break the cycle, that’s all any of us as adults can ever wish for. There are no guarantees in life, so learn from others’ mistakes. Enjoy what you can, while you can. Don’t let it consume you like … well, just let go and let life happen.”
    For me, Aunt Jane said it all in a nutshell. Afterward, I replayed every word in my mind, even months after we spoke. Aunt Jane did not know, but her words “Don’t let it consume you” were the last words Father had said to me before I enlisted in the air force: “Do what you have to. Don’t end up like me.” My aunt helped me to realize that whatever had happened between Mother and me had deeper causes than her drinking and abuse. I could only guess whatever anxiety Mother or even Grandmother carried within their heart of hearts. I was in no way looking to place blame on either of them; if anything, I felt a certain sadness for what it must have been like for both of them during their childhoods.
    I vividly recalled as a preschooler how, when I called her Mommy, she showered Ron, Stan, and me with endless love, attention, and anything we could wish for. At times, whenever Grandmother left from one of her visits, the four of us would celebrate. It was as if Grandmother was still a parental figure in Mommy’s house, and once she departed, Mom was able to do as she pleased. One time, when Grandmother was adamant about Mommy not allowing my brothers and me to play the game Twister for fear of us contorting ourselves into bone-snapping positions, Mom rolled out the plastic sheet and played with us the moment the front door closed. “Oh, don’t mind her,” Mommy cooed. “She doesn’t know how to play. Let’s have some fun!” Looking back, I thought