“Well the war broke out in Belgium
And the Germans on their way
And a cry rose up from a German mother
For they took her son away
The powerful notes rising and falling in endless repetition heralded the arrival of my Uncle Kendrick*. We knew immediately what this meant—Uncle Kendrick was once again in full psychological crisis.
Uncle Kendrick was actually my great uncle—my mother’s uncle. One of my grandfather’s many brothers, he had battled mental illness his entire life. He would go for long stretches without any apparent struggles, and then suddenly, boom! War would break out, and Uncle Kendrick would walk from his home miles away to the care and ministrations of his niece.
I remember the love in my mother’s eyes as she would gently seat Uncle Kendrick and speak calm, reassuring words until the song finally died away, and he hungrily gulped down the Complan (a complete-nutrient drink similar to Ensure) she gave him.
I marveled at my mother’s love and care for not just Uncle Kendrick, but for all her relatives. From my perspective as a child, most of them ranged from a little quirky to downright peculiar.
Take Uncle Regis* for instance. Confined to our rural farm community by his motion sickness, Uncle Regis ventured into town only once in his entire life. Unable to “stomach” the diesel-fueled passenger buses of the time, he saddled his donkey at 3 o’ clock one morning and rode the roughly 22 miles (35 km) into the island’s capital.
I’m not sure what pressing business drove Uncle Regis into town that day, but to my knowledge he never again attempted the trip. Leaving, guess who, to help him with all his business transactions in town? My mother of course!
(My impudent sister continued to hope that Uncle Regis would venture into town again on the donkey and provide some excitement and entertainment for our sleepy village, but when the donkey finally died her irreverent imagination quickly found other entertainment. The donkey happened to die on the same day as *Mrs. Llewelyn, and for weeks my sister dissolved into laughter at the thought of Mrs. Llewelyn galloping to eternity on the back of Uncle Regis’ donkey. Speaking of peculiar relatives!)
Although Uncle Kendrick and Uncle Regis were the uncles who had the most interaction with my mother, she always remained connected to her father’s (and her mother’s—but that’s a different story!) entire clan.
And then, there were the aunts. First, Tantie Agatha*, who once moved in with us after a falling out with her sons—large steamer trunk, porcelain pitcher, porcelain wash basin, and porcelain po’ (chamber pot) in tow.
And Aunt Eugenie* who breezed in occasionally from her “palatial home” somewhere on another island. I had a vague suspicion that “the reports of [palatial] were greatly exaggerated,” but Aunt Eugenie carried it all off with unblinking imperiousness, issuing commands with the air of a duchess.
Once in a while, I overheard snatches of village conversation that suggested to even my innocent child’s mind that Aunt Eugenie was not exactly “reputable.” The gossipy snatches always referred to her as “Pretty Mommy,” but I dared not ask my mother how her aunt ended up with that nickname.
An assortment of other aunts completed the family tapestry. Aunt Maisie, like Aunt Eugenie, lived abroad, but Aunt Beulah* and Aunt Lilibeth* were local and came by for occasional visits.
My mother loved them all, every last one. Where my untamed judgment and childish impatience saw dour demeanors, idiosyncrasies, and eccentricities, her love and understanding saw bond, and relationship, and connection. I did not know it then, but I was watching her model the unconditional love described in 1 Corinthians 13:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails (vs. 4-8).
I sometimes still look at the gnarly family tree with emotions ranging from amusement to consternation, but I am mostly grateful—grateful for the long-standing bonds and the connections that continue today because of my mother’s strong commitment to family.
Perhaps it is only when life is seen from the vantage point of advancing years that the importance of flow from past to present to future becomes paramount. So I hope that my own nieces would overlook my foibles and my flaws, and perhaps offer me a glass of Complan-er- Ensure. And that they would allow me to swoop in from time to time.
I can only promise I will try not to ride in on a cloud of imperial entitlement. Or on a donkey!
*All names in this post have been changed from the real names of the characters
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