Goodbye

My mom's cousin Jerry recently started connecting a bunch of family members on FB through photos and posts about his grandparents. As he is my mom's cousin, his grandparents Jacob and Mary, are also my mom's grandparents. Of course, this makes Jacob and Mary my great grandparents. Today, Jerry posted a huge family photo of what I think of as "my mom's side of the family" at my mom's sister's (or my aunt's) 60th birthday party. I love looking back at these family photos, but I was saddened today as I tracked from one side of the photo to the other, realizing how many of my relatives are no longer with us. I was particularly haunted by seeing my cousin Robert, who I wrote about recently in a post about losing a first love. Of all my cousins, he and his twin brother David, were the closest to my sister and me in age. They were like the big brothers we never had and I miss them both- David because he loves in Massachusetts, and Robert because he died almost 15 years ago. I remember the last time we spoke...

Robert had been living with cancer for a couple of years, and the last I had heard he was in remission. But I got a phone call from my mom one night. "Robert isn't doing so well." My mom's voice was shaky, like she was trying not to cry or already had been. I protested a bit asking about remission, but my mom insisted they never really called it remission. Either way he wasn't doing well. Prior to Robert, I had never lost anyone close to me, except grandparents. My paternal grandmother died when I was six so I barely even remember. My paternal grandfather died when I was in high school, but my dad was somewhat estranged from him so we weren't close at the time. More recently, my mom's father died just a few months before I got married, but cancer struck in his early eighties and his condition deteriorated quickly, leaving me with no opportunity for goodbye. Robert was different.

"I think you should call him." It chokes me up just recalling my mom's words.

"Call him? What am I supposed to say?" I was dumfounded. He lived in Massachusetts and we didn't talk on the phone regularly, so the whole idea felt awkward and scary. I couldn't imagine what I would say. My mom encouraged me, reminding me how much he needed the love of his family. I knew she was right, but I wasn't sure how I was going to do it. How would I talk to him without crying? What would I say? Was I supposed to say goodbye?

I wrote down his number and hung up with my mom. Then I paced back and forth and cried a little. I took a deep breath and thought about how much harder this would be for him than for me. I dialed the number.

"Hi Robert, it's Laurie." We exchanged small talk briefly and I was surprised at how "normal" he sounded. I wanted to believe my mom overreacted, that he wasn't really dying. And then the conversation stalled and went silent. I could feel my eyes welling up and the bottom of my throat felt like it was filling up to the top.

"I guess I just wanted to tell you that I love you and I'm thinking about you." He told me he loved me too. "I'm really sorry, I don't even know what to say. I don't want to say goodbye."And I don't remember how the conversation ended. I just remember him trying to make me feel comfortable. I think maybe he had come to terms with what was going to happen, more so than those around him. But I guess that's probably not unusual. I hung up the phone and cried and within a few days, my mom called and told me he passed.

I am so glad my mom insisted I make that call. Goodbyes are never easy but my cousin didn't leave the world without hearing me tell him I love him. And I got to hear his voice one more time.

This is my cousin Robert. He was always active, playing sports and fishing. 

Robert and his wife Phillipa. This was at my wedding.