One decade.

On March 23, 2008, my sister called to tell me my uncle had died.

It was Easter Day.  Alyssa's first Easter.  I had dressed her in a lavender and green striped dress (much cuter than it sounds, I swear!).  I had a basket filled with plastic eggs and had just sat her in it to take pictures when the phone rang.  I will never forget that moment.

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It sounds cliche, I know, but even though we knew he was sick and knew he didn't have much more time, it was STILL a shock to me.  It broke my heart not just for me, but for my mother, my sister, my nephew, and my not-quite-one-year-old little girl.

She would never know his love, and that has been one of the worst things about it to me.

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I've said it many times, but when my father died, my mother was pregnant with me and had my three year-old sister.  She had a full plate and was now without the love of her life.  My Uncle Joe (mom's brother) stepped in to help and did so for the rest of his life.

He treated us like his children and we looked up to him as a father.

I want to write so many things, but it's hard.  I want to have perfectly slowing sentences and make everything seem perfect, but I can't.  Instead, I'll just write to him.  He would like that, I think.



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Uncle Joe,

I can't believe it's been ten years since I got to hug you.  Ten years since I got to see you smile.  Ten years since I got to hear you tease me or roll your eyes at something stupid I did.

I still cry.  I cry all the time.  I miss you, but it's more than that.

I cry for how hard your life was.  How hard you worked.  How deeply you loved.  How life wasn't always kind to you. 

I cry for my daughters, who will not have you in their lives.  I cry for my mother, who lost her best friend.

I just cry.

My whole life, you were there.  You had your own way of showing love and I don't know anyone to this day who could reprimand me for disrespecting my mother, while still letting me know I was loved.

When I did something bad, I always, always, ALWAYS worried that I would disappoint you.  YOU were the one who I worried about.  I would beg mom to tell you things so that I wouldn't have to hear your pain.

She wouldn't do it, though, and that's a good thing!  It's good because I learned how NOT to be a wuss, but also because I learned that you would always love me. 

You were so kind to me.  You let me know that what I did may have been wrong, but that we could fix it.  I made mistakes, but you helped me make things better.  You taught me how to stop making those mistakes so that next time I would make a better choice.

It worked, I swear.  I still messed up, but I always had your voice in the back of my head telling me you loved me and that I could fix it.

I wonder sometimes where I would be if I hadn't had you in my life.  There's no way to know, of course, but I am sure I wouldn't be the open-minded person I am without having had you to love.

You are the strongest man I have ever known.  And also the gentlest.  Your strength lifted my mother up when she was at the very bottom, but you were always gentle enough to hold me in your arms and let me fall asleep nestled against the open neck of your shirt with your crazy chest hairs sneaking out.  Chest hair still comforts me.  It makes me feel safe and protected (and I don't even care how creepy that probably sounds).

You instilled respect in us.  We had to respect our mother or suffer your disappointment.  We had to respect you, or feel your wrath.  But most of all, you wanted us to respect ourselves.  To know that we were worthy of being loved.  That one didn't always take, but I try!  I truly do.

I was always SO PROUD to introduce you to my friends.  And they all LOVED you.  They STILL talk about "Uncle Joe." 

A few things I remember:

- No matter the holiday, if mom got flowers, you brought a flower for me and Teresa, too.
- Ducky.  We were Ducky.  Or Baby.   Special terms of endearment for me and my sister.
- Mom hiding an Easter egg in your shirt pocket and me being SO EXCITED to find it!  The way you smiled.  So excited like a child and so happy for me.
- Every flavor of soda in your fridge.  Orange.  Ginger Ale.  Cola.  Lemon lime.  It was like a world of wonder.  Mom didn't give us such things. :P
- The fact that you hated cats, but let my kittens climb all over you.
- The way you held Alyssa for the first time, gently and so timidly.  Afraid you would drop her.
- The first and only time I saw you cry, when I said goodbye to you before moving to Cincinnati.

I don't know how we get along without you.  I'm sure you are up there (I think UP), watching us and rolling your eyes when we do something stupid.  Stealing meatballs off other peoples' plates.

And loving.  Always loving.

I miss you. 

So much.

- Adriennie (the extra I is for you)


***

Losing my religion.

When I was little, I wanted to be a nun.  Funny now, but I was completely serious back then.  I loved the Church.  I loved the nuns.  I love seeing the priests in the rectory.  I just loved it.

I spent some time with the nuns in the convent.  I don't remember why.  I think it was while my mother was teaching religious instruction.  Mom, can you let me know?

Anyway!  They were so nice to me and their lives seemed so calm.  They played Hi-Ho Cherry-O with me and I felt like the luckiest girl ever.  It was always so quiet there and I craved the noiseless interaction.  It was Heaven (no pun intended).

As I got older, I didn't spend time there, anymore.  I played in the yard behind them, but I didn't go inside.  I missed them.  I missed feeling so close to God.

It was around that time that I started preparing for my First Holy Communion.  A huge deal in the Catholic Church and I was so proud and so excited for it!  Finally I would be able to receive communion and be an active part in the Church. 

***

My grandmother (with whom I was very close) lived across the street on the side of the church.  I spent a lot of time there with her and, therefore, at the church itself.

There was a statue of Mary (the Holy Mother) outside the church.  She was behind a fence and sometimes had a crown of roses on her head.  She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I would sit on the sidewalk in front of the fence and talk to her.  I prayed that I would be good and show love to the world.  I prayed that my mother and sister would be happy.  I prayed that the world would be peaceful and happy, too.  I also prayed for my grandmother to live forever.  I loved her so very much.

There were many tears.  I felt love from her, even though she was not here physically and it was just a statue.  She was IN me.  My faith was so very strong.

***

 

I often went to church by myself.  I had Sunday school in the morning, and would go to mass afterward.

EVERYTHING about those masses and the church itself was amazing to me and so, so HOLY.  The pews.  The stained glass.  The statues.  Jesus on the cross.  The stations of the cross.  The organ.  Just everything.  I love it all and I felt so loved there.  I would light candles to honor my father. I loved the silence and the peace.  It's almost overwhelming to me now to remember it.

When we went back to NY last August, I took my girls to my childhood church.  As so many are now, it was locked.  Luckily, the caretaker was nearby and let us in.  As soon as I walked in, I was assaulted with memories of my youth and my faith. 

I walked around a little and told the girls some information about the church and then I settled in the front pew.  I talked to God and I prayed.  I asked forgiveness for my (many) sins.  And I CRIED.  Not tears of sadness, but tears you feel when you have come HOME.  Tears of love and joy and PEACE.  It was one of the most beautiful days of my life.

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When I was preparing for my Confirmation, We were brought into the church during a regular day and told to write our fears on a piece of paper.  I don't remember what I wrote (most likely my mother dying), but I wrote it down and folded the paper as small as I could, crying the whole time.

The priest put all of our secrets in a big urn and lit them on fire.  We watched the ashes rise up out of it and he told us, "God is taking your fears on Himself.  You no longer have to have fear, for he will suffer it for you."

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard and, I think, the first moment that I ever TRULY understood what it meant to be a child of God.  He was sacrificing for us, and it was amazing.


***

As I got older and became an angsty teen, I started pulling away from the church and God.  What God would let my father die when I was still growing in my mother's stomach?  What God would allow horrible things to happen to those I love? What God would let people beat my uncle and destroy his belongings for who he loved?

I didn't understand.  I was angry and sad and confused.

I spent years being angry.  So, so angry.

And what I realized about that anger, was that I had lost hope.  I didn't care about anything.  I didn't think things would ever get better.  I was miserable and angry and did so many things wrong.  To myself AND to others.

It was a bad time.

***

It took years, but I eventually got my love for God and the church back.  Yes, my father had died and I had never met him, but God also had my Uncle Joe there to take over and treat us as his own.  We were given a father in my uncle.  He loved us as his children and he took care of my mother and made sure we were loved.  I had the opportunity to become close to him in a way which I never would have before.  I didn't have MY father, but I absolutely had A father.  I don't THINK I missed out.  At least, I don't feel that I did.

And yes, Uncle Joe was vilified and hurt and beaten down because he was gay.  But he also kept love in his heart and gave it out to us and his friends without hesitation.  He loved in a completely unique way.  Would he have loved differently?  I don't know.  But he loved completely.  There were no conditions to his love and we knew it.  He was also able to teach me and my sister how to be who we were without fear.  It's a huge lesson to learn.  We were so lucky.

***

So my faith was back.

I had (have!) faith that God is real.  I have faith that things will not always work out the way we want, and we will certainly suffer sometimes, and we will question and cry and rail against the world.  We will often find ourselves crying out, "Why me???"

I do all of those things.

But what always brings me back is my faith.  What gets me through my darkest hours is faith.  I have faith that it will pass (and I didn't always...I attempted suicide twice because I had no faith).  I have faith that things will be as they should for me.  I was never promised perfection, but I was promised free will.  What I do with it is my own.

Because I have been given free will, I also understand that we all have been given it.  People (even the horrible ones) have been given free will.  They do with it what they choose.  This is why the world is sometimes not so great.  Free will can create awful things.

It's a gift, though.  Being given free will is allowing us all to make choices - good or bad.  We have that choice, though.  It sucks sometimes.  It is heartbreaking sometimes.  It can be deadly.

But it is ours.

Once I learned that and truly believed it, my life changed.  A calmness settled inside me.  My faith had been completely restored and it brings me peace when I truly need it.


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I don't want this to come across as me proselytizing.  I am not trying to convert or convince.  Catholics really don't do that. ;)  I do not care what you believe or do not believe.  I know that I will love others as they need to be loved and that is because of my faith.  I would be lost without it.

And full disclosure:  I am divorced, I live in sin, my children were born out of wedlock, I curse and sometimes take the Lord's name in vain, I do not attend church, and I do not pray daily.  I am so not perfect, but I don't think that's what it's about.  I think it's about being true to yourself in the only way you can be.

I know that I am loved.  I know that I will see Heaven one day (whether I ask for forgiveness or not).  I know that everyone will be there (Catholic, Christian, Jewish, Muslim).  I don't think Heaven is only for those who believe.  I think it is for everyone who wants love and I am pretty sure we all do.

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So, for anyone reading this, I KNOW.  I know love.  I know God.  I know that I am imperfect and often a hypocrite.  I know that my friends believe things vastly different than I do.

I also know that we are all love.  We are all here.  We all have free will.  We will all suffer and feel pain and sometimes feel angry.

We are human.  I have complete faith in that.


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Fun fact!   I was born on August 15th, which is the Feast of the Assumption - the day Mary was assumed into Heaven.  It was meant to be. <3 p="">

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