Chapter 2: Someone to Watch Over Me

Hail and Farewell

Maybe it was that we were both the youngest child, or that we shared a name, but there was no doubt that Uncle Lee and I shared a bond.

I left home when I was only sixteen when my family was living in Tallahassee, FL. I was trying to go to school, having entered college early. With no financial support from my family, I was working full time and trying to take care of myself, which was a real struggle.

Lee was still in the Navy and had just returned from the Philippines where he had been Provost Marshall for several years. He was stationed in Orlando and would invite me to drive down and visit him.

He drove a custom made classic looking, I mean like 1930s classic, car and it was fun to ride around with him on base.  As a senior officer he was saluted constantly, and it was a constant process of salute, return salute, salute, return salute.  All while driving.  But I enjoyed being with him as we’d go to lunch at the Officer’s Club, or he’d send me off with his season pass to Disneyworld and some cash to have fun.

It reminded me of being a teenager before I left home and going onto bases with my father, also a Navy officer, and how he would scowl at any sailor who dared to look at me.  Uncle Lee had the same scowl. I appreciated his desire to protect me. And I needed protection. More than he ever knew. 

Over the years, Lee remarried, retired from the Navy, divorced and eventually settled near San Diego. I had done a tour in the Air Force, married and divorced also, and settled first in Los Angeles and then in San Diego. We’d get together regularly for drinks or dinner, usually meeting at one of his regular haunts.

There was one bar he particularly liked, a club on the beach where he’d become friends with the owners. They’d had a special barbeque one weekend and I enjoyed some chicken and we both had some drinks. On my way back home, I started to feel ill. I had to stop on the side of the freeway urgently as I had no choice but to empty my stomach, more than once. I waited awhile until I felt like I could drive again. By the time I got home I was running to the bathroom and spent the next few hours feverish and ill. My uncle called to make sure I got home, as was his habit, and I let him know what had happened.

He was mad. So mad that he went down to the bar and yelled at his friends for making his niece sick. Turns out I wasn’t the only one, the chicken was problematic apparently. He didn’t need to do that. After all, what could they do at this point? But still I remember feeling touched that he cared and felt protective of me.

As I thought back to our times together, he was always protective.

Over the years I’d done quite a bit of theater acting and Lee was supportive when I wanted to pursue acting full time. During one showcase production, I appeared on stage in a state of mostly undress for a part of the play. He acted cool, like it didn’t bother him. But a friend told me she nearly had to sit on him to keep him from running up on stage and throwing a blanket over me.

Later, when I lost my job and was broke, he took me in and let me crash on his guest bed while I worked on getting my act together. Because there he was, looking out for me. Again.

Over the years, he shared a lot with me. Sometimes he’d talk about his oldest brother, my father. He’d tell me great things my father had done but also things about my parent’s marriage that I certainly was not supposed to know. And in retrospect, some of which I wish I had never heard. But it helped me understand my family better.

Usually, we’d be drinking together when the stories would slip out. All of the men in my father’s family drank. If not to excess, then certainly too frequently. It was a challenge in all of their lives.

Later I found out that he’d been quietly writing regularly to my dad and telling him how I was doing and that he was looking out for me. Thankfully, he managed to leave out information about my costume, or lack thereof, on stage. Protecting me, of course.

“Yep, there is a lot to the process, but I can guide you through it,” David said. The law firm my brother had found had set me up with a very good lawyer. I’d never been an executor or administrator for anyone’s estate before, so I had a lot of questions.

My uncle was unmarried, had no children, and no will of which we were aware. So, we would be heading to probate.  His last home was here in California, just a couple of hours from me.  Not only was I closest geographically but our past closeness was certainly on my mind. I volunteered to deal with his estate and my siblings were more than happy to let me handle it.

Queen of spreadsheets, I opened my project tracker where I was gathering all of the information that was coming at me. I made notes based on the conversation with David and looked up the number I needed to call to arrange for my uncle’s remains.

I felt like all of this was my duty. It was right that I take care of everything. It was the least I could do after all he did for me. I don’t know why we lost touch, what happened that put space between us.  You don’t always get the chance to say that thing you planned on one day saying, or to ask that question that would trouble you sometimes late at night.

Now he’s not here.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault; he took a bad fall and was in ill health.  And though we had not been in touch, I was keenly aware of the hole that I felt in my heart.

Now it was my turn to take care of him.

When the hospital asked what was to be done with his body, I wasn’t sure. I consulted with his best friend and it was clear that he’d prefer to be cremated. So first part of the project was figuring out how to arrange for everything.

Speaking on the phone with my new lawyer, he had outlined how I would need to identify all possible heirs.

“Well, there’s my sister, my brother, and me.  And there’s Leslie.”

“Leslie?”

“Our brother,” I replied.” We don’t know where he is. He was sick. Mentally ill.  None of us have seen him for maybe forty years.”

There was a silence from the other end of the phone.

“Our family believes he is dead.” I said quietly.

“Has he been legally declared dead?” He asked

“No,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” coughed David, “but you’re going to have to find him.”

I hung up the phone and thought, what if he is still alive?