On Monday, I received a telephone call from my first cousin, Suzette. She called to inform me that her father had passed away at age 95. Affectionately known as “Uncle Henry,” he had lived in New Orleans, Louisiana, his entire life. He was the husband of my paternal aunt, Harriet. I was always hanging around their house. I can honestly say I was in love with both since childhood. However, it was my aunt’s death that taught me what a real man my beloved uncle was.
My memories are always of his coming home from work looking very tired. He was a carpenter and the father of five children. Nonetheless, he had time for me and we sat and talked, usually about school activities and church activities. He did not have leave—in New Orleans leave days were New Year’s Day, Mardi Gras Day, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, All Saint’s Day, Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day. I liked to visit on Saturdays and the house was busy and so was my uncle.
When Aunt Harriet became ill, my cousin Suzette set a schedule for family members to sit at the hospital with her. I brought my children with me on my scheduled day—Wednesday. Unfortunately, towards the end, my uncle took unpaid days to be with my aunt. We knew she was passing on.
It was a memorable Wednesday that I arrived at the hospital and my uncle asked me to come with the family to speak to the doctor. I knew it was the end. I watched this 6’6” man struggle to work through the most devastating news that would befall a family. I remember to this day that I wanted to run from the room when the doctor said, “We’ve done all that we can do.” This wonderful man had to reorder his parenting because his wife was leaving him and the children. As my young cousins began to question and question the doctor, I began to cry. My Uncle Henry, such a strong man, kept his demeanor.
After the funeral, he continued to work, because the children needed this. I also suspect it gave him some kind of relief.
