This may be a bit scattered, but after my day yesterday, I wanted to share with you all about my family on my Dad’s side.
My great Uncle, Bob Land, passed away yesterday. All of his family was with him at the hospital, and they say he passed quickly and peacefully. My dad, brother and I spent the day driving around Anderson to visit with various family members and remembering Uncle Bob. After leaving my grandmothers house (my dad’s mother), my dad said, "mortality is such a weird thing. Mom just wants her story to be known and shared." My grandmother, Virginia Foust, who goes by Ginny to her friends and Grammie or Granny to her grandkids, is one of 5 kids and Bob was her brother-in-law, so we visited with her and her siblings throughout the day.
Grammie has been a widow for more than 45 years now. I believe my dad was about 5 years old, when his father, Harold Foust, was killed in an accident at work. My grandmother never remarried, and raised 4 kids on her own. Her father, owned lots of land in Anderson and built a neighborhood in Anderson where he gave his children a piece of land each. As long as I can remember, Grammie and her sisters lived in this neighborhood, but if you talk to my dad when he was growing up, the whole neighborhood was like a family. Dad’s family has also always been very close. I remember at one point in my early teens, meeting my 3rd, yes THIRD, cousins. It actually took us a while to figure out what our relationship would be. But, my dad grew up with his first and second cousins, almost as close as siblings.
In fact, Uncle Bob was much like a father to my dad. I remember my dad telling stories about Uncle Bob taking them places, stopping by their house after Grampy died and just generally being available to my dad and his siblings. When dad told Aunt Marian this yesterday, she smiled and said, you kids were always as much like our kids as nieces and nephews.
Bruce is Bob and Marian’s son, and he was a few years older than dad, and as much like a brother as a cousin. As long as I can remember, I have called him Uncle Bruce. Just last Thanksgiving, I called him Uncle Bruce. I think he probably thinks I am too old to call him that, but it’s how I think of him. I guess when a family rallies together after a death of a young father, those memories can live for years, even generations.
Our family is not without it’s scars, and hurts and pains. But yesterday, I saw the best in my family. The love they have for each other. I guess years of living next door to each other and taking care of each other lives on. Yesterday, I talked to cousins, second cousins and great aunts and uncles that have been as close to me in my life as I could hope for. I thought I would talk more about Uncle Bob in this post and maybe I will later, like the time he dressed as Santa Claus and came over to Grammie’s house as we were gathering to open presents one Christmas, or the many times I sat outside their house in the summer, or the Halloweens we went to get candy from them and they pretended they didn’t know who we were. Mostly, I just wanted to share about my family and why I love them, most days I don’t think about it, but as my brother said, losing someone and visiting all the family, somehow puts other things into perspective.
