The memories in which he existed are continuing to fade in my recollection, but the remembrances impede from time to time, and overshadow any doubt or guilt one would experience from admitting such strong memories are in fact fading from their consciousness.

Saturday afternoons were accompanied with communication that was nonverbal. A tie-dyed Grateful Dead t-shirt (assumedly with the subsequent dancing bears), and a cracked tooth that had not been of bother, but yet a concern for later. His presence entering the car and me sluggishly (and introvertedly) disappearing into the backseat to avoid being elbow-bumped.

Countless hours were spent with me immersed in a book, while my biological father and my Uncle William casually sat and fished. In this, he found complacency. I introspectively did as well.

It had only been in my late-teenage years that I had come to realize how eccentric my uncle was. How appreciative I had been of my uncle’s nonchalant response to discussion surrounding my identity. How he had treated me with the same respect I had been previously accustomed to when some decided otherwise. 

I learned of the greats. Despite me being far too young to grasp Homer’s Moby Dick, during fishing trips, he would intermittently ask “Got to reading Moby Dick?”. Albeit the reply always being a solemn ‘no’, most likely with my head still buried behind a Young Adult book, he had never lost sight of my potential. Nor did I.

I had been immersed in the passage of the illustrious Big League Chew gum, some days of which were accompanied by fireworks, and others, of the taciturn and waiting for a fishing rod to bob. All of which made me wonder if my heart has the same cadence. How his haphazardly stalled but mine is still beating.

I found myself sitting at an altar, close-but-not to-close from extended family members. His absence created a need for closeness, but the closeness felt ingenuine. Sad gazes turned to smiles upon leaving the funeral home, with emotions being concealed for the man who helped raise me. I sat stoic, unaware of the impact that caused masses to accompany the service. Nevertheless, I was not surprised. As his childhood friends, of which was my father, hoisted him out of the funeral service, I grasped the fragility of time and more importantly, the lack thereof. 

Months had passed between when I had last seen him. Illnesses, school, divorce, caused an unintentional rift. Regardless, my appreciation never faded. My appreciation for hot-chocolate on Saturday mornings, a smile showcasing a recently fixed broken tooth, and an orange tabby cat that never ceased to show her appreciation via the dragging and subsequent dropping of a dead mouse, in the pursuit of validation, a snack for later, or a combination of the latter.

Somewhere there are cascades of Big League Chew, sitting adjacent to fishing rods with their owners patiently waiting for them to bob. 

Somewhere there is a house that you made a home still standing. 

My remembrances of the former evade me. But in these recollections, I find a semblance of comfort. 

Vanessa Aiello is a student at Regis College and has been recognized for her creative writing and photography. Vanessa aspires to teach her students the power of the written word and creative expression. Aiello can be found at vanessa-aiello.com.