An officer and a gentleman

My uncle passed away yesterday. The last of all my uncles is gone. All my aunts are gone and my parents, too; and of course, all my grandparents are gone.

That whole generation and the ones before it are all gone. Gone.

I was probably the closest to him out of all my uncles. I was in NY often and I saw him often. When I was young I would stay at their house for long periods. He was a second father to me.

I saw him last month. I have a photo I took of him at a family BBQ. I didn’t know it would be the last photo I have of him, he looks so great and healthy in the photo.

He left us on my aunt’s birthday, which I guess was a birthday present to her. Now they are together forever.

When he was in the hospital these past few weeks, I was remembering a story he always told. He and my aunt shared an apartment with my parents when they were all young married couples – an apartment in Brooklyn.

My uncle would tell the story of a tilted floor they had in the apartment; he joked that it was like walking up a hill. He would tell of holding me when I was an infant, and walking “up that hill” in the apartment, back and forth to put me to sleep. He would mimic walking sideways, trudging up a hill, as he told the story.

It always made us laugh, no matter how many times he told the story.

He was a New York City Police officer, and I always pictured him in his uniform when he told that story. He was quiet, polite, honest and a gentleman, the type you want every police officer (well, everyone) to be.

Now I picture them all together, on the other side. Back together again, like it was so many years ago – the fearsome foursome.

Till next time . . . .