Crying Uncle
Goodbyes, full houses, and empty nests.
For the first time in my adult life I now return home to a quiet house each day.
No tiny pitter-patter greeters. No adult inquisitions of “Where have you been?” No one to feed first thing in the morning, or curl up at my feet at night. Just the low, constant hum of appliances to remind me that something still pulses through confines of the structure I choose to inhabit.
When I moved into this house five years ago I was part of a family unit of four: myself, two dogs, and my wife, Tracy. Within the first few weeks our older dog, Ocho, began experiencing intense seizures that would leave her temporarily paralyzed multiple times a day. A few days later, a decision was rendered that the neurological tremors would likely continue to increase in frequency, taking a cumulative toll on her body. A decision was made to say our goodbyes before more pain was endured.
It was hard to ever feel completely settled in the house, partially from losing Ocho on our arrival. But mostly because Tracy was entering the first six months of what would be a two year battle with a rare form of cancer. Our time in the house was a staccato blur of short visits punctuated mostly with weeks and months spent living in New York City hospital rooms.
Eventually, those doctors ran out of pursuable options and said the best/only course was to return home and make things as comfortable as possible. What was supposed to be a joyful new-to-us house turned into a makeshift hospice for the next half a year.
I said goodbye to Tracy at the end of 2021.
Bea, our other dog, and I continued on together. We fell into our patterns. It was a quieter house with the two of us. But one that still coursed with a bit of energy and predictability and reliance on one another.
We did our best to fill the space here. A house meant for four always felt a little funny with two. Cabinets sometimes remained empty. Unused rooms sat without a daily purpose. One gets complacent with the unplanned lack of occupants.
Three weeks ago I welcomed some new people into my life for the first time. The family of six arrived on a Friday night for a three day visit. They temporarily filled the house to capacity, and I promptly spent the next 72 hours in a crash course getting to know my guests. And they getting to know me.
I had always known of a sister-in-law in my greater orbit, but because of complicated family circumstances, we had remained totally disconnected from one another. Aware of one’s existence, but not of the specifics of each other’s life.
I had not been expecting to see her at the funeral of a mutual family member some months ago. It should have crossed my mind that the possibility could occur. It hadn’t.
When she walked through the doorway I wasn’t even sure if it was her at first. But after my initial shock wore off, I knew it to be. What trailed behind her, however, made me swallow hard and rub my eyes.
One, two, three, four.
I counted twice to be sure.
Four kids. And they weren’t small. They clutched smartphones at their sides.
Who? How? If she was my sister-in-law, and these were her kids, then that made me an…
Well, wait. Did it?
Or did it.
For almost two decades, I wasn’t an uncle. And then I was. At least that was the quick calculation, and conclusion, I made as I stood there and watched them fill the room.
Not one niece, or two…but three. And a nephew.
Teenagers! Multiplied.
After the funeral their mother approached me. She and I exchanged Cliff Notes of our lives. There was too much to cover in one night. But before she left she asked me a question, “Would I be OK with being considered the kids’ uncle?”
I would.
And with that affirmation, one by one, she called them over to meet their Uncle Jamie for the first time.
Fast forward to this past Memorial Day weekend: the entire family made the trip up to the Catskills and we all hung out for the first time. Hiking, roller skating, exploring book stores and vintage shops, eating pizza, watching animated films, and making quadruple scoop ice cream sundaes.
It was petrifyingly scary for me (how do you just jump into this Uncle thing?) but also strangely familiar at the same time. Eventually I stopped worrying if I would be voted a “weird” uncle or a “cool” uncle (or something else). I eased up and slid into the role. I was their uncle. Their only uncle. And all I could do is just try my best.
We all got through the weekend. They went back to their lives in New Jersey. I don’t know how I scored in the end, but I think I did ok.
Four days ago I gave Bea a dog treat and hugged her for the last time. My copilot through these last few years. Old age and a compounding list of health issues had reached a point that it was heartbreakingly time to say goodbye to her, too.
I am adjusting to the idea that no one is waiting for me to come home now. No one is dependent on my preparation of meals, making sure they take their meds, making sure they are content, cared for, warm at night.
But now I occasionally get the buzz of a text message that starts with “Uncle Jamie!”…followed by senior prom photos, or track and field updates, or news of new boyfriends and driver’s licenses gained and other life goals unlocked. All things I never would have expected to be hearing about this time last year.
I will do my best to ease into my mostly new quiet life. I got through the uncle part. I know that all I can do is try.
The birding tally:
I mostly suspended wildlife and birding pursuits these past two weeks to spend time with Bea. I received word that some Alder Flycatchers were spotted at a park down the road, so Bea and I took a slow dog walk there one evening and saw a couple. A few days later I had a chance encounter with a Yellow-Bellied Flycatcher while walking on my property. My 2025 Ulster county bird count crept up to two more species to 158.
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It’s 5am in the Catskills and I’m off to hike to the top of one of the 4000’er high peaks to see if I can lay eyes (or ears) on a Bicknell’s Thrush, a secretive bird that restricts itself to the highest mountaintops of our area and likes to sing around dawn. Yes, it’s a long way to trek for a bird, but who needs sleep? See you in two weeks.
heartbreaking and lovely at the same time...thanks for sharing
Keep writing Jamie! You have a beautiful and compelling artistic voice. I imagine Tracy somewhere in the great beyond cheering you on. ❤️