jchrisobrien (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jchrisobrien) wrote2008-09-09 04:09 pm
jchrisobrien) wrote2008-09-09 04:09 pm
the Clan O'Brien pt 2: Uncle Jack
Uncle Jack is a monsignor in the Roman Catholic Church. He is 92 and a half years old, and the years have not been kind. He moves withte aid of walker, his body is curved so much he looks like a question mark. His body is frail, and his voice a soft whisper. His eyes are still clear and lucid, and he can still hold a nuanced conversation with you, if you sit close to him. His mind is still as sharp as it ever was, and he is if anything more stubborn than before. He wouldn't let me get his food for him, but I did get him to cut into the front of the long lunch line.
Uncle Jack is my oldest living relative now. Among the scrap books and mementos were newspaper clippings of his past. One of them states how he lead his football team to victory in a game in 1933. There are photos of him studying in seminary school in Brussels and Rome. He was evacuated from Poland with other priests just as Hitler was invading. There are many pictures of him consecrating new churches, presiding at weddings. Our caterer said Uncle Jack married everyone in his family. Consider how Catholic Scranton is, that's probably a lot of people.
Uncle Jack asked me for my address, so he could write me and keep in touch. I watched him take the slip of paper, fold it with his trembling hand, and tuck it inside his pocket. The front of his shirt was stained with crumbs, but he finished his plate and had room for cake. I watched as my cousins helped him into his car, and realized that this may be the last time I see Uncle Jack alive. Its almost tragic that my last memories of him are at his worst. I've seen him at his best though. I've seen him in his youth (looking like William H. Macy), and in his older years when I was a child. And I've see the fire in his eyes now. Maybe that's the best way to remember him: fiery and sharp and lucid, even at the edge of night.
Uncle Jack is my oldest living relative now. Among the scrap books and mementos were newspaper clippings of his past. One of them states how he lead his football team to victory in a game in 1933. There are photos of him studying in seminary school in Brussels and Rome. He was evacuated from Poland with other priests just as Hitler was invading. There are many pictures of him consecrating new churches, presiding at weddings. Our caterer said Uncle Jack married everyone in his family. Consider how Catholic Scranton is, that's probably a lot of people.
Uncle Jack asked me for my address, so he could write me and keep in touch. I watched him take the slip of paper, fold it with his trembling hand, and tuck it inside his pocket. The front of his shirt was stained with crumbs, but he finished his plate and had room for cake. I watched as my cousins helped him into his car, and realized that this may be the last time I see Uncle Jack alive. Its almost tragic that my last memories of him are at his worst. I've seen him at his best though. I've seen him in his youth (looking like William H. Macy), and in his older years when I was a child. And I've see the fire in his eyes now. Maybe that's the best way to remember him: fiery and sharp and lucid, even at the edge of night.
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scranton?
did you say...scranton?
cause, that's where my family is from...
wow. you realize, the likelihood that our families knew each other is not slim at all. that's cool!
(and also? this is a beautiful post)
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Thank you.
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