As many of you know, I lost someone very dear to me last week. I wanted to share my words of remembrance here, and I want "Uncle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" to know 1-4-3 -- I love you and always will. You have helped shape who I am today.
Through my entire childhood, my uncle Bernie used to tell me a story. When I was fourteen, I changed his story into a poem as a Christmas gift. It read:
Long ago and far away
Or maybe here, this very day
God came down with his Holy Ghost
And said, “Bernie Walsh, which do you want most?
All the meadows, all the trees, even the shining stars;
All the people, all the homes, all the brand new cars.
“Or would you rather Bernie,” he smiled,
“Have the gift of this little child?”
Between two streets, the left side and the right
Bernie thought with all his might
Shall I choose the left side with all its gems and pearls
Or shall I choose the right, which holds the little girl?
Bernie looked at God, his eyes full of question
And asked if he had any suggestions
God gave the only advice that he could,
“Do what your heart tells you you should”
As Bernie listened to his heart
He knew it held the answer right from the start
He looked at God and boldly said
“The riches don’t matter,
Of course I choose Kara.”
I felt special when he told me that story. He made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. Bernie’s gift, though, was that he was able to make everyone whose life he touched feel like they were that little girl, or boy, on the other side of the street. When Bernie loved you, he would do anything for you. He would take a bullet, or give the shirt off his back, to help the ones he loved. And Bernie loved a lot of people. His heart was big and there was always enough to go around.
I am the last remaining member of the Walsh bloodline. My uncle was devastated by the deaths of his beloved mother, his father, his sister KK, who died tragically at the age of two, his brother John, and finally his dear sister Evelyn, my mother, whom we lost to cancer in 2002. What a strong man, to watch his entire family pass on before him and still continue to live and love. My uncle Bernie serves as an example to all who have lost loved ones; his family meant the world to him, he spoke to them every night in his prayers, and he continued to move on with his own life, holding them in his heart.
If friends are truly the family you choose, then Bernie chose well. Everyone here meant something special to Bernie. He created his own family, not only myself but my extended family, especially my father, Joe; my Auntie Pat, his dear friend of 36 years and her children and grandchildren, who called him “Grampie”; and our wonderful neighborhood.
It is hard to put a label on the relationship I had with my uncle. Because he was so much more to me than just an uncle. He loved me like a father, he spoiled me like a grandfather, he teased me like a brother, and he conspired with me like a friend. My uncle attended every dance recital and every theater performance I was ever involved in. Whether I played a starring role or ball guest #8, his pride in me was the same. He would beam, make sure everyone sitting near him knew that I was his niece, and would always give me a Beatrix Potter figurine to put on my piano to mark each performance. As a little kid, I would lie on my uncle’s bed at night and watch MASH, an old TV show about the Korean War. Not sure it was the most appropriate choice for a kindergartener, but my uncle did not believe in sheltering kids (in fact, he taught me all of my swear words).
He read to me every night. We started with “Annie Goes to Camp”; I ended up memorizing it at two years old (even knowing the right places to turn the pages) and he would show me off like a party trick, telling people I knew how to read! He would try to trick me by reading the wrong words or ending suddenly, and I always called him on it—that made him proud. One of our favorite children’s books was called “A Special Trade”. It was about a grandfather who took care of his granddaughter when she was young, feeding her, telling her stories, and taking her for stroller rides around the neighborhood. Later, when the girl was older, her grandfather fell ill, and she took care of him, feeding him, telling him stories, and taking him for wheelchair rides around the neighborhood. While my uncle was sick, we talked about this book; it holds a special place on my bookshelf and in my heart.
My uncle was always meticulous about the way he looked and dressed. In fact, our biggest fights revolved around who got the bathroom first. He would spend HOURS getting ready, shaving, and the hair… he had a little black comb and spent at least an hour making sure every hair was exactly in place. One of my favorite games as a child was to try and mess up his hair, because I knew that really pushed his buttons. I think that my love of all things Burberry comes from my uncle Bernie; only the best for us! He loved dressing to the nines to visit the Colettis’ for holidays, taking Pat to church and to dinner at the Wayside Inn, going to the country club with Ed and the rest of the Deveaus’, riding down to Scituate to visit David, going to Chicago to see Brian’s family (he was so proud to be at Andrew’s graduation!) and traveling to Florida to see Karen and her family. All of these trips made him feel proud, important, and special, and he wanted to make sure he made everyone he loved proud of him as well.
Growing up, my uncle and I had a little conspiracy against my parents. When I was about 6, there was a fad of trading cards called “Garbage Pail Kids”. When my mom realized how vulgar and disgusting they were, she told me I had to throw them all away. Seeing how devastated I was, Uncle told Mom that he would throw them away, and instead he stored them in his hope chest, where they live on today. Uncle and I also shared a sweet-tooth. On his way home from work, Uncle would stop at CVS and buy me secret stashes of candy to keep in my room. When my mom and dad insisted that I eat my vegetables, my uncle would covertly push his plate near mine and slip the spinach or broccoli onto his own plate. We had lots of inside jokes, but our favorite was called “lightbulbs”. Once, my uncle told me that my parents “weren’t that bright”. From then on, every time one of them said or did something we thought was ridiculous, we would point at the ceiling and whisper “lightbulbs”.
My uncle liked to think of himself as a tough army veteran, but really he was sentimental at heart. It was he who saved every piece of artwork, every program, every roster, every newspaper clipping, every test, every essay, every report card, from my pre-school through college graduation.
My uncle was equally proud of his granddaughters, Jena and Alicia. “That Jena, she’s sensible and smart and responsible; and Alicia, she takes after me! Don’t ever mess with Alicia!” Bernie was a steady and consistent presence in Jena and Alicia’s lives; he was at dance recitals, holy Communions, soccer games, softball games, Sunday dinners, and graduations. He wanted more than anything to be with Jena on her wedding day and was devastated when he was too weak to make it; however, he was surely there in spirit and heart, just as he will be with all of us as we move forward with milestones in our lives. A memory that all of us share is my Uncle’s love of “slipping the twenty”. He didn’t make a lot of money, but every time he would see Jena and Alicia, he would make a point of secretly slipping the bill into their hands and admonishing them not to tell their mother. He did the same to me, and to my many cousins, to the kids I babysat for; pretty much to any kid who walked through the door.
Uncle Bernie was equally generous with the neighborhood children. On Halloween, he made sure to buy each “special” child a huge candy bar wrapped in a dollar bill. On Christmas, he made the rounds with giftcards for all of his young friends. As he got older and retired, we got a dog named Chloe. Chloe and Bernie pretty much became the neighborhood mascots. They would walk up to the Perkins School for the Blind every single day and visit with the kids, the bus drivers, the teachers, and the nurses. In the afternoon, Bernie and Chloe would sit on the front steps and wait for the kids to get off the school bus. He would chat with Hannah and Ally about school, Timmy about snowboarding, Anna, Ava, and Joseph about puppies, and little Clara would sit with him for hours discussing world events. In the evening, he would talk about gardening and history with Dan across the street, would crack jokes with Steve, and would have long conversations with Helen and her sweet granddaughter Hannah.
Our next door neighbors, Fred, Sophie, Benjamin, and Olivier, held a particularly special place in Bernie’s heart. They moved in next door when Sophie was 7 ½ months pregnant with Benjamin. My uncle loved watching Ben grow from a baby, to a rambunctious two year old who never walked, only ran, to an independent pre-schooler. As Benjamin grew, for better or worse, Bernie taught him the way he taught me as a young child. They would sit on the porch for hours reading Curious George and eating lunch together, having conversations that I’m sure Sophie thought were completely innocent.
Until one day, Sophie mentioned to Bernie and me that Benjamin had been saying something about “throwing you in the ocean and feeding you to the sharks!” She couldn’t imagine where he had learned such a thing. My uncle got that devilish grin on his face; “Not from me!” One day, as I sat on the porch and witnessed their inappropriate (but funny) bantering, I said to Benjamin, “Ben, would your mother want you saying things like that?” Benjamin, showing off the devilish grin he learned from Bernie, replied “My mother is not HERE!”
Last summer, Fred, Sophie, and the boys took a trip to France to visit family. Sophie overheard Benjamin, then three, asking his cousin how to say “Nincompoop” in French! Wonder where he got that from?
Aside from having a gift with the young, Bernie had a special gift with the elderly. For years, he and Pat volunteered at Maristhill Nursing Home. My uncle’s job was to wheel patients down to Mass. For some reason, he was often mistaken for a priest by the residents. Of course, he loved that. He would bless people in the elevator, say a prayer, and they would gratefully reply, “Thank you, Father”.
My uncle was fiercely protective, especially of Pat. He put the needs of others over his own. One night, not long ago, the fire alarm went off at 55 Waverly, where Bernie and Pat lived two doors away from one another. Pat didn’t hear the alarm, and Bernie stubbornly refused to leave the building without her. When the firemen told him he would have to go, Bernie shouted (using colorful language), “That’s the police chief’s mother in there and you better get someone to unlock that door NOW!” He was battling cancer, not even close to the 220 pound tough guy he used to be, but he remained just as persistent and protective as ever. And as usual, he got his way.
My uncle has been preparing me for this day since I was a little girl. He always told me that every year he got to see me grow was an extra blessing he never expected. He said that when the time came, that I should cry at the funeral (and he said that with a twinkle in his eye and that devilish grin), and then I should move on with my life, remembering him but not dwelling in the sadness. I know that he would want the same for all of you, the family he created.
There’s a line from a song by Andy Griggs I would like to share:
“If heaven were a town it would be my town, on a summer day in 1985
When everything I wanted was out there waiting
And everyone I loved was still alive.
Don’t cry a tear for me now baby, there comes a time we all must say goodbye
And if that’s what heaven’s made of
You know I, I ain’t afraid to die.”
My uncle was not afraid to die. Yes, he was worried about all of us he has left behind, but his message to you would be to remember him always but to go on with your lives. He held on for a long time, because he was a tough guy and that’s what tough guys do, but now he is at rest. He was a man of God and had a strong faith and is now safe with the Lord. I can imagine his mom and dad, sisters and brother, waiting to welcome him at the gates of Heaven, and of course Chloe running over the Rainbow Bridge, ears flying behind her, tail wagging, to greet her best friend.
I have one last thought before I close. One night, while he was pretty sick, I was lying on my uncle’s bed with him. We were very open about death and dying, and I asked him what he would like me to say in the eulogy. He thought a minute, got that devilish grin on his face, and said, “He was a hell of a guy!” And uncle, you were. You were a hell of a guy, and we will miss you. I love you.
