The Five of Cups

It wasn’t until I was twenty one years old that I knew what it was like to just cry without thought. It was the day that my Uncle Milton passed away. I have experienced death before, my grandmother died when I was eleven, and my grandfather died just a year before my uncle when I was twenty. This, person was different from them. Uncle Milton was like a second father to me, he had been there for me ever since I was born. I was his little princess, and he was my best friend.

         When I was little my Uncle lived a three hour drive away, in Connecticut. His house was on an apple orchard that stretched so far I wasn’t allowed to walk around by myself because my parents were afraid I was going to get lost. His house was huge, at least from the perspective of an 8-year-old; it was just my aunt and uncle living in the house. Their kids all had families of their own and all my aunt and uncle had, for children, was their dog and cat. When my mom and dad were still together, my whole family would travel to his house a few times a year.

         My Uncle Milton was a tall man, and had been gray ever since I could remember. He loved to fish and golf…I’m trying not to turn this into a eulogy but he was the kindest man I have ever known. I don’t think I can ever remember feeling sad when I went to visit. It wasn’t just because my uncle spoiled me with gifts and his attention. No, being around him made my whole family happy, and the troubles we would have at home would disappear. In the summer we would go to Riverside Park, in the fall we would pick apples, and the winter we would go sledding. It was like a fantasy world where nothing bad would or could happen to me, but I learned that fantasies had to end.

         When I was eight my Uncle was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The thing is I didn’t understand what cancer was, and wasn’t even told what was happening. This seems to be a common theme in my life; I am always the last to find things out. I can still remember the conversation I had with my dad about my Uncle.

“Vikki, Uncle Milton is in the hospital right now, he was having surgery.”

         “For what?”

         “He has cancer, and they are removing it.”

         “Why did I find out now?”

         “Because, Uncle Milton didn’t want you to see him crying, because he is scared.”

I was a little kid; I understand why no one wanted me to worry me. Yet, I wasn’t worried, I had this blind faith that my Uncle Milton would be there for me, and he was.

If it wasn’t for my Uncle Milton I wouldn’t know how to bate a worm and cast a line. He bought me my first fishing rod it was a Mickey Mouse kind. One of the first times I remember fishing with him I had to be 5-years-old. My Uncle, Aunt, and I went to their friend’s house that lived on a pond. My uncle’s friend took us out on his boat while my aunt (who was prone to boat sickness) sat on the dock with a book.

“Now Vikki,” my Uncle would say, “When you see the bobber go under the water you are going to want to reel the fish in!”

“But won’t the hook hurt the fish?”

         “Nope, you will see the fish will be trying to fight to get away.”

I didn’t believe him at first, but I followed his instructions and sooner than I realized I had my first fish hooked.

“Good job now reel him in!”

I began to reel as fast as I could, my little arms pulling on the fish that I almost felt was trying to take me with it. I had caught a 5 inch sun fish!

“Good job Vikki,” my Uncle Milton said, “Hold up your fish so I can show your mom and dad that you caught one on your own”

I had the biggest smile on my face that day I wasn’t scared that the fish was still moving on the hook, I was just so proud that I had caught my first fish with my Uncle Milton’s help.

“Soon, you’re going to be a master fisherman and we are going to catch fish in the ocean Vikki.” He told me as we went back to the dock after an hour or so. I smiled again as I watched the water go by from the side of the boat. I was still amazed that I had caught my first fish that day, and would be able to catch more some other day. 

My aunt and uncle moved back to Mass when I was ten, the same time my parents divorced, and they became a support system for my mom and I. We would make weekly trips to their house to visit, and the four of us would sit in the living room and watch a movie or talk. My uncle would take me to Providence to visit Dave and Busters when I asked. Sometimes he would put on movie nights for my cousins and I, and we would get MacDonald’s and have a marathon of movies. It was great having them so close because they were able to be around for family gatherings, and birthdays.

It wasn’t until my now step father came into my life that my relationship with my aunt and uncle started to fall apart.

Soon, I only saw them on holydays. My mom didn’t want me to be around them because she thought I was the reason that they broke off their relationship with her and that guy. She never realized that it was her own fault.

I was alone now. My mom had a husband, my dad had also remarried. My sister was god-knows-where doing god-knows-what. I began to take myself away from it all, hide myself behind smiles and acted carefree. When all I had wanted was someone to notice that I was in pain, that I was looking for someone to give me attention.  My life had changed so much, and it had become normal that I wouldn’t see my Uncle Milton.

I was in college when the cancer came back.

My Uncle and Aunt were the type of people to keep everything a secret and keep to themselves. My family knew about the cancer, but we didn’t know much else. It was then that I took the initiative and went to go see him myself. I had wanted them to meet my boyfriend Pat, and try to have a relationship with them again.

It was a summer afternoon when Pat and I took a trip down to New Bedford to have dinner with my aunt and uncle. They had restored a big house that my uncle had wanted to live in ever since he was little. It was their dream home. I don’t know why I felt nervous that day; both my aunt and uncle were wonderful people and there weren’t opinionated and I knew they wouldn’t disapprove of Pat.  There was just something that I was never able to put my finger on why I was feeling the way I was.

The first thing that my aunt and uncle did for us was make us feel totally welcome. Dinner was already finished when we arrived, there was even desert. They would never let anyone come into their home and leave hungry, and man did we have a wonderful dinner of pork and potato’s and vegetables. It was just the four of us laughing and sharing little stories.

After dinner, I took Pat on a tour through their house, and ended up in the basement. My uncle had redone his basement to make it a home theater. He had a projection TV, big leather seats that reclined and had cup holders. He even had a pool table and a popcorn maker down there. My aunt wanted to watch something upstairs and so the three of us were trying to decide on a movie to watch. We ended up, picking Blazing Saddles because Pat had never seen it before. My uncle though while we were watching left to go back upstairs. He said he had seen the movie enough times, and wanted to get some of that desert we had wanted to wait for.

I had noticed that he was limping, but I didn’t want to ask why. I knew his cancer had come back, but I couldn’t address it. Pat and I felt rude sitting downstairs by ourselves, so we traveled back upstairs to find my aunt and uncle in the living room watching TV. When they saw us, they offered us desert again and we agreed even though we were still full from dinner, and then we just talked.

         Pat talked about his crappy jobs, my aunt told me about my mom as a kid. I talked about my dislike for living at home with my step father and then my uncle told me what it was like to work at his company. He was CEO of a rubber company before he retired. Everyone loved him, because he would be down in the factory working with his workers,

“The secret to my success is that I got down in the factory with the workers,” he told us. “There was this one time a machine had malfunctioned and a large shipment had been messed up. I went down there to work with the other guys trying to fix it. It wasn’t until everyone started to come back the next morning that I realized I had been there for hours and should probably go home and shower.”

We all laughed, but at that moment I realized I had never been more moved by one person. The last thing he said to me before Pat and I left was.

         “I love you, let’s do this again sometime”

         But we didn’t; this was the last time I saw my Uncle. The cancer, when it came back had spread to his bones, and he became sicker and sicker. Chemotherapy was only delaying how fast the cancer was spreading through his body. No one knew what was going on. My Aunt and Uncle were keeping to themselves, spending their last few months together, and with their children and grandchildren. My aunt didn’t even go to her own father’s funeral because she was afraid of catching a bug that could make my uncle sicker.

         Last year, my uncle was admitted to the hospital because the cancer had spread to his brain. It was then that I knew I had to prepare myself. I had to try and be courageous and see him one last time. That time never came, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go see him; I was afraid. What if he died while I was there? I had never seen anyone die before. This wasn’t the uncle I wanted to remember, my Uncle was the man who would play Pretty Pretty Princess with me, and not be ashamed to wear the crown. He couldn’t die…Yet on October 6, 2010 he did.       

         I woke up that morning before my alarm, which was very uncommon for me. I turned my phone on and received two text messages, one from my mom and one from my dad, both said the same thing “call me”. I almost didn’t want to, because I knew…I knew that if I called my mom I would get the news I hadn’t wanted to hear. I did anyway, and she told me that my uncle had passed away in the morning, and I should call my sister. My dad, wanted to know if I was ok, I lied and said I was. Finally I called my sister who was already crying.

         It wasn’t until I hung up the phone that I buried my head in my pillow and let everything out. It was like I had been holding something deep down inside and all at once and it just let go.  My eyes burned, my chest hurt, I couldn’t breathe. Nothing was comforting me, I wanted to yell at my friends on Facebook for saying that their day was going well, and I threw my pillow across the room because it was the closest thing to grab. This totally uncontrollable rage filled my body and all I wanted to do was cry. To find some sort of comfort I pulled my Tarot cards for the day the five of cups, regret. That word...regret...what was there to regret? That I hadn’t seen my uncle in years because he was keeping to himself, or because I hadn’t visited him in the hospital because I was afraid to see him dying.

         I could only think of myself as a horrible person. How can I say I loved someone, that I cared for them so much and not visit them in their time of need. Would he even have wanted to see me? I had heard he wasn’t himself anymore. The cancer had messed with his mind and he even attacked another patient. That couldn’t be right, not my uncle Milton. Not the man who would read stories to me at night before I went to bed, and take me to places that my parents couldn’t. I had never felt such sadness in my life. I still, I still cannot control the tears.

         The day of his funeral…I couldn’t sleep the night before. My sister had flown up with my nephew from South Carolina, and even though I was happy to see them. I was really sad and depressed. Yet, no one saw it. I didn’t let anyone see me cry. I hid from the world like I had done all those years ago. My sister seemed to be able to express herself as always. I never vocally complained about it; because it did bother me that my sister would always make everything about her. How she would get angry and voice her opinion about comments my mom would make. She even yelled at my mom because of something her and my step dad said about the funeral…I don’t know I took my own car with Pat because I didn’t want to deal with them.

         What bothered me most about the funeral was that it was a gorgeous day. It was October and like 80 degrees. When my grandmother died it was raining, and for my grandfather it was cold and yucky. Why…why did it have to be beautiful? I wanted it to be dark, and cold and dismal because that is what happens at funerals. You cannot be sad when the sun is shining!

         I was being good though: I hadn’t let any tears flow down my face.  That is...until I went to the bathroom before the service. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold my composer during the service so I went down for tissues. There was a woman in the bathroom that I didn’t recognize, I tried to give her a weak smile, and make it look like I had come down to check my makeup when she asked me.

         “Who are you?”

         “I’m Vikki…”

         “I’m Milton’s sister…I knew I recognized you from his pictures. He loved you very much.”

         I looked away from her and nodded, “I did too.”

         She left the room, and I stared at myself in the mirror. I was trying not to cry. I knew that if I cried now, I wouldn’t be able to stop. It happened though. I whipped the tears away feeling embarrassed with myself.  I had cried a lot of the past week, hadn’t I cried enough? Crying wasn’t going to bring him back.

         I met Pat outside the bathroom. He could tell that I had started to cry, and didn’t say anything he just held me. He knew that I was in pain, and he didn’t know how else to help me. So I just cried into his chest for a few moments before we went back to sit down.

         I…I can’t describe how I felt for the rest of the day. It was like my insides were dead, and my heart was breaking over and over again. Everyone kept asking me.

         “Are you ok Vikki?”

         I wasn't ok…why would anyone ask me if I was ok. Why did everyone feel the need to remind me that I wasn't ok! I was at a funeral who is ok at funerals?

         I still didn't say I was alright. I just nodded and sat down between my sister and Pat. The three of us were trying to keep my nephew distracted so we could listen to the service. My sister had to take him to the room in the back because he wouldn't stay quiet. I knew…I knew I should have gone with her, but I was going to be selfish for once in my life. I wanted to hear the end…I wanted to try and say goodbye.

      I never understood what it was like to cry as a child. I would tear up over things, I am not going to lie and say I didn't. I cried when my parents divorced, I cried at my grandmother’s funeral and at my grandfathers as well. I cried when I got into fights with my boyfriend, and at sad movies.

         This time…This cry…These tears. They were different from those times. I had never had never cried when it came to my uncle because I knew I would see him again. I knew that we would sit and talk or watch a movie together.  I understand now.

         “I love you too Uncle Milton, I want to do this again too.”