Another Patrick and Barb

 He looked like a movie star, my uncle who lived at our apartment in Los Angeles with us.

"Go get a job Patrick. It'll be good for you." My mom would tell her brother. 

He pretended to leave for work, went to the rooftop and got some sunshine on his skin. 

His raspy voice and charm were funny and endearing. 

He brought her home one day and introduced us to her after they had met one another in Las Vegas. She was beautiful and kind to us. She looked like a movie star. They fell in love quickly. 

They lived with us 3 kids, my mom, dad and the 2 of them. 

She wore hula hoop skirts and when she walked up the stairs with him. We could practically see her underpants but she didn't notice our observations at all. Her and Uncle Pat were too busy being love birds. 

My mom worked the night shift as a nurse and my dad worked for the union. 

They didn't talk much and their busy schedules kept them occupied with everything other than spending time with each other. Still it was a happy marriage. The way they liked it. They had their independence, entertainment with Patrick and Barb and wrapped their free time around taking care of us. 

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Your Presence

 Your presence is something I’m trying to make sense of. It’s like a quiet knowing that it holds more than what is being presented. It’s a quiet questioning, wondering who you are and how we are connected by this name. It’s his name I see when I look at yours.  

You tell me your story slowly with your quiet spirit. I sit and watch and wonder, think and miss him. Be a teacher, he told me, without words about it suggesting a balanced and happy life in that occupation. He’s the reason I stayed in education when I wanted to leave.  

He has been a source of strength, education, direction, leadership, comfort, laughter and acceptance in my life. I’m afraid he might not be there anymore. I’ve tried to reach him after the fires and I’ve had nothing but the sound of emptiness.  

Then there’s you. Your presence I appreciate so much but it makes me feel as if there’s always going to be an emptiness where his presence once existed. It makes me want to cry. I think about the fires and where he might have been and how stubborn he would have been about leaving.  

Your presence helps me think about him still being alive and well. I hope he is.  

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