My Uncle Wes is My Guest Blogger Today ♥

When my mom's brother, Wes, spoke at her funeral services last year, he told the sweetest stories of her. I asked if he'd mind writing a blog post for me so that I could share those stories with my readers in a little different approach to Team Teal Tuesday. I know it wasn't easy for him to write, but I think he did a great job.

So, without further adieu, please welcome my awesome uncle, Wes.

♥ ♥ ♥

Marti {age 17}, Wes {15}, Kathy {8}, Grandpa, Sue {10} Grandma, Ken {12}

Christmas Day, 1959

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I have a lot of images from my early years - not quite refined enough to be memories. A constant in those images is Marti; I sense her presence over me in a nurturing way. As the memories become more definite, so does the nurturing. As the third born to her second born, I guess her desire to care for her little brother was very strong.

 

I can remember her anguish when I stepped on a nail; I can remember walking to the store, hand in hand, down a sidewalk in Tolleson, Arizona. My strongest memory of her early nurturing comes from my first day of school.  I'm not sure why that event is so clear, but I know she took me to my first classroom and checked on me several times during the day. I think she stayed close that first week. I can recall her happiness when I had made my first friend - that probably relieved her of some responsibility.

 

Our early years were close with Marti being the boss-er and me the boss-ee.  I think these respective roles continued until the day we each realized she was no longer looking down at me nor me looking up at her. I shot up in height and she shot up in maturity and we started growing apart. Besides, I now had a younger brother in drastic need of being picked on. By the time Marti reached her teenage years, our relationship had resolved into one of her telling me to leave her alone and me not being able to do that.

And then overnight it seems Marti was interested in boys other than her brothers. I was still at the "kissing girls is yucky" stage and just couldn't grasp her fascination with guys that I thought were universally wimpy. But this relationship of ours which had deteriorated to "stay out of my face" status, was about to turn a corner that would present a windfall of sorts for me: Marti was ready to approach Mom and  Dad about going out on a date with a boy.

I can remember Marti's emotional high when she asked for and was granted permission to date.  I have fonder memories of the dive her spirits took when she was told I had to go along on the date.  Quite honestly, at first I wasn't thrilled.  But then I realized I would have more opportunities to go to town and see movies. An added bonus was Marti was suddenly very, very nice to me. I think she realized I could jam up the works by telling Mom and Dad I didn't want to go.  At any rate, when the first date finally arrived, I think I was excited about it. 

Los Banos, Calfornia only had one movie theater, The Crest, and it was about the only thing couples could do on dates. Or so I thought. After a very short while of dating, a routine was established:  Marti and her date would drop me at The Crest while they went to "find a place to park." Without fail she would tell me, "Meet you in the lobby after the show." As this went on I felt that I was walking in tall cotton; life was great. On our post-date drives home, Marti would talk about the movie. For years I didn't realize that she really didn't talk about the movie - she was just getting enough information from me to cover her absence if anyone asked.

Of course we all know how this phase of our lives ended: she found the guy she wanted to spend her life with and I discovered that kissing girls was definitely not yucky. 

In the following years I had opportunities to play big brother to her as the little sister in need.  But life eventually took us in different directions and we didn't have the closeness that was so important to both of us in our early years. The accident of our birth order resulted in a special relationship that, in spite of my love for my other siblings, could never be duplicated.

As her last days approached, I would like to think I was able to repay a very small part of that nurturing she provided me; nurturing that turned out to be so critical to me becoming the person I am today.

You often hear people say, when talking about the lives they've lived, that they have no regrets.  I am of the belief that a life without regrets is a life not lived. To my last day I will have in my stack of regrets the knowledge that I could have been, should have been closer to my sister; I think she had me in her stack.

♥