It’s odd, because I can’t call him my uncle, but I also feel strange calling him my cousin. Dick Thorpe is my grandfather’s brother’s son. My father’s cousin. My first cousin, once removed.
Dick and his wife, Stephanie, lived just up the road from us all my life. Well, when I say “all my life,” I mean they’ve always lived there, but I moved away from home years ago, and my childhood home fell out of family hands when my dad died. Dick’s first son, Ryan, was born the day after I was…apparently, hilarity ensued when the Mrs. Thorpes at the hospital each had to make sure they had the right baby. Ryan and I grew up together, and while we’ve gone our separate ways in life, I’ve always felt a pretty strong bond with him. His younger brother Aaron was always a good kid, and he’s grown up to be a pretty spectacular father, himself. I never really got to know their younger sisters, but I got to “meet them” again this past spring, and they seem just as wonderful as I’d expect.
At the end of this past March, Liz and I went back to NY for a way-after-holidays family fest. I hadn’t seen my brother in roughly three years (!), hadn’t seen my aunt and uncle (from my mother’s side) since they visited us in Baltimore a little after that, and I had been jonesin’ to have an honest-to-god family holiday get-together for the past decade, at least. Thanksgiving and Christmas slipped through my fingers, and my sister was unable to join us, but we planned the trip around my birthday weekend. While we were there, we stopped by Ryan’s office (he was working on his birthday, and he’s the boss!) to wish him a happy birthday and shoot the breeze with him and his brother.
It was great to catch up, but just as we were leaving, we got some troubling news: Dick’s health was really taking a nose-dive. Despite never having been “a drinker” and not having hepatitis, he somehow had developed cirrhosis of the liver. Apparently, the doctors had done a lot of testing, but it seemed to just be “a mystery.” I didn’t get too many details, but it was alarming to even consider the thought that Dick was in advanced stages of liver disease.
At the beginning of May, Liz and I saddled up again for NY, to attend Ryan’s wedding. When we arrived at the chapel, I honestly walked right past Dick, having completely failed to recognize him. “Hi Jim,” he said, just as I walked past. We spoke for a few minutes, a little about the wedding, a little about his health, and I’m pretty sure my super-attention to my composure was completely ineffective. It must have shown right on my face, how shocked I was at his gaunt, tired face. We ended our conversation politely, just before the ceremony began.
During the reception, I was taking photos of everyone, running around to try and get the good shots. I tried getting a few photos of Dick having a good time with various friends and family members, but I kept missing my shot.
But later in the evening, when the dancing was just beginning to fade, and everyone was beginning to get a little tired, I stopped by Dick’s table on the way to the bar, and ended up just pulling up a chair with him. It had really been a long time since he and I had even seen each other…I think, at least, five or six years ago. Much to my surprise, he even brought it up: I had been on a motorcycle, parked at the Raby’s Ace hardware store in Oswego, and had bumped into him at the entrance to the store. We had caught up on a few things then, talked a bit about family, life, impending retirement. Before that time, it had probably been another five years since I had seen him last. But there, at the wedding, sick as he had been, he remembered clear as day what kind of motorcycle I had been riding, and what we had talked about.
The more we sat there and shot the breeze, the more we both unclenched and got to laughing over old stories. He talked about my dad, told me some funny stories from the golden days. Stories about working in the IBEW electrical workers’ union. A little kvetching about how the whole system went to shit when the local union was merged with Syracuse. All the topics of conversation that still fit like an old glove.
The next morning, Liz and I changed our minds and decided to join the wedding party at a big breakfast they were having, and I’m glad we did. Everyone in their normal clothes, joking and jabbing at each other, it was a great cap to a wedding weekend. Of all the people invited to the breakfast, somehow Liz and I got to sit directly across from the parents of the groom, Dick and Stephanie. It seemed a pretty perfect extension of the “family fest” that we’d just gotten in March.
Cut to two days ago, and I began getting brief messages from Ryan and his brother: Dick was not doing well. After various trials and tribulations over the past month or two, his liver and kidneys were beginning to fail, and he had been removed from the donor recipients’ list. Over the last 48 hours, we’ve all been praying for miracles, but it seems it’s not meant to be. We’re all in the process of saying goodbye. His kids and grandkids have gone to visit him, to spend some time. From the messages I’m getting today, it’s fairly certain he will be gone by tomorrow.
This is not fair.
