My uncle Tony died early this morning.
When I was tiny, my mom worked 3rd shift as a nurse, during weekends and sometimes during the week. When she did, she left me with my dad’s parents, the Braddocks, overnight, through the weekend, and during the summer. These people raised me as much as my parents did. When I say these people, it was largely my grandparents, but it was also the aunts, uncles, and cousins that were in town. Chief among these were my aunt Suzie and my uncle Tony.
Tony was the eldest of four children, with two children of his own, Rhea and Casey. Both were significantly older than me (by 12 and 6 years, respectively), but were still around and treated me well for a very young cousin. Tony himself was very involved with the family, being local, responsible, and immensely kind. He helped take care of my grandparents, worked with my grandpa as a brick mason, volunteered as a firefighter, and took me with him to places here and there. He was a good sport–whenever anyone asked him to be there, he would be, and would volunteer even when not asked. He helped teach me to skateboard, watched me bicycle, and let me run around his house while he worked on repairs and renovations. When it came to stepping up as a responsible family elder, Tony and my dad were the ones to step, but with my dad out of town (and usually the quieter of the two, but not by much), Tony was recognized as the local go-to guy.
When my grandfather passed away, much of the responsibility of caring for the family went to Tony. He looked after my grandmother, and eventually moved her to a home, visiting her on a weekly (if not daily) basis. For my aunt and all my cousins, he was the grandfather they never had–many were too young to remember my grandfather, and Tony fit the role so well. He always took it with the grace he inherited from my grandmother and the fortitude he gained from my grandfather. Whatever the task, he was the organizer of it, and most times the heavy lifter of the crew.
These things took their toll, physically and mentally, but not emotionally. Laying brick for 40 years wore out his knees and back. He waited for years to get knee replacement surgery, knowing it would leave him effectively disabled for months in a time-sensitive career. Carrying the local family’s burdens as well as helping with his wife’s family put mental stress on him. Not once, though, did he take it out on anyone. He was always in good humor, willing to tell a funny story, and searching for positive outlooks on situations–a side effect of being a national-class photographer, I guess. He was a man who always sought to put your perspective in the best light possible.
Tuesday night he fell and injured his neck, requiring surgery. Last night he was at home recovering, and had just spent the evening with one of his daughters and had called my father, his estranged brother. The two of them had just decided to bury the hatchet after a lifetime of fighting–from my father’s prompting. I couldn’t have a prouder moment.
Barring the details, my uncle passed away last night in the hospital after doctors couldn’t open his air passages in time. His passing, like so many of the best, was untimely, inappropriate, and far too unfair for a man who deserved much, much better.
Rest In Peace, Tony. Know that Earth is still filled with people who love and miss you VERY, VERY MUCH.
