Important, but not urgent

I was trying to hurry my way through the newest emails that had accumulated in my inbox when the phone rang.  “Hello”, I said.  “I don’t think I’ve ever called this number before” came the voice on the other end of the phone.  “Hi Dad, I don’t think you have” I replied.

My mother and stepfather had been together for nearly 18 years before they separated.  However, as I became a young adult, Dad and I had a falling out.  I was no longer angry with him, but we hadn’t had a father daughter relationship in over twenty years.  When Mom and Dad divorced, he was actually the only Dad I’d had for a very long time, and I haven’t had one since.  I have been pleasantly surprised by the generally good, if less than perfect, relationship that he has maintained with my younger brother and sister. 

Robert is three years my junior.  He was a toddler when Joyce and Mike started dating.  In any way that matters, Mike is the only father Robert has ever known.  Imperfect but present counts for a great deal when your biological father has never really been a presence in your conscious memory.  Lunden was “the baby”.  I was twelve and elated when she came home from the hospital.  It has been many, many years since we were a family, but I don’t think that even she knows how much she is the glue that keeps the other four of us family.

“I’m calling you, because Tom called me” he continued.  My Uncle Tom had been married to my mother’s sister, my godmother, Aunt Kathy for more than twenty years.  Then one day, Kathy’s best friend of two years explained to her that she had been Tom’s mistress for three years.  "They were in love..."   Tom had been my favorite uncle until then.

“… He said that he saw in the Lowell Sun Obituaries…”

Crap.  I know where this is going. 

“Your father died.  I thought you should know.  Would you call your siblings?”
“Sure”

“I’m on the road in …” Did he say Ontario? Indiana?  Does it matter?

“Sure I’ll call them.”

“I’ll see you this Sunday if I have the energy.  I’m travelling a lot.” For the past five year, he had been joining my family in support of a walk for autism awareness that we support, but that’s another story we can come back to later. 

“Sure, I understand.  I’ve been a road warrior before.  Travel safely and thank you for letting me know.”

So, there I sit.  My ex-stepfather has called to tell me that my ex-uncle wants me to know that my ex-father has died.  Can you make this up?  I don’t cry often.  I haven’t seen my father more than twenty years and I burst into tears, big fat blubbering tears. 

I look up the obituary on line.

Leo G. Murphy, Loving brother; 66

NASHUA, NH -- Leo Gayton Murphy, 66, a resident of Nashua, NH, and formerly of N. Chelmsford and Lowell, passed away on Friday, April 13, 2012, at St. Joseph's Hospital in Nashua, NH, following a prolonged illness.

Leo was born in Lowell on December 28, 1945, a son of the late John R. Murphy, Sr. and Esther H. (Armstrong) Murphy. Leo was a graduate of the Immaculate Conception Grammar School and attended Keith Academy before graduating from Lowell High School in 1965.

Leo was employed in the construction and roofing industry during his working career.

He was an avid reader and a devotee of many PBS series, especially Masterpiece Theater.

Leo is survived by his brother, John R. Murphy, Jr. of Hudson, NH; his sister, Leona (Murphy) Kerouac of Manchester, NH. Leo also leaves a longtime friend and companion, Barbara Davis, as well as many nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends.

Leo was the brother of the late Carol Ann Zincavitch of Dracut, and brother-in-law of the late Patricia A. (Barclay) Murphy of Hudson, NH.

I can only guess we got left behind so long ago that we don’t rate mention in the obituary.  I read it again.  No, I think it’s fair to say that he is survived by us.  I try to make myself feel better by rationalizing that his siblings didn’t want to presume that we wished to be included.  It would have been good to be asked.

I allow myself a few minutes to recollect myself and I call my brother.  I leave him a voice mail.  “Robert, please call me back.  It is important, but not urgent”.

I go back to the obituary.  No.  There is no trace of us.

Typically, when I think of my family, of where I come from, it is the stories of the women who jump to the fore.  They are the ones who were there.  They were strong, self sufficient and flawed.  Their stories fill the library of my family history.  First hand, second hand, legend and lore. It’s the women’s tales that build the chronicles of my family history.

The men, by and large, simply weren’t there, at least not that you’d be able to rely on.  The ones that were there had precious little good example to follow.  So many failures by their gender were laid at their feet and the burden of unrealistic expectations was laid upon their shoulders.  How could their success be measured accurately?

The irony that this moment presents me is that it brings forward the men in my family.  Many appear to me in their faded, incomplete portraits.  Of the men, there are more snap shots and short stories in this library than there are novels.

 

Written April 24, 2012