My uncle

 When my dad died a friend of mine said, it’s like your anchor has gone. It was and still is. Grief finds ways to sneak up on you and today as I type I feel the loss of my dad and my uncle mingling in surprising ways.

I’m not quite sure why my uncle and I connected the way we did but I think it was the first time he gave me a novel for a birthday present. It was one of those summer gatherings in North Norfolk I recall. One where I felt how young I was compared to my brother and sister and my cousins. We were just sought of talking and I got that book. A simple and fun read. Sadly I don’t remember the title but I do know that it was one of the first books I’d read for pleasure and one that made me laugh and had some quite raunchy bits in it. Much to my mum’s surprise, but if I’m right, not really to mine. I think despite the various differences the two of us had quite a similar sense of humour. 

Over the years I always felt understood by him, we would talk about theatre and disagree on politics. We could be honest with each other about a range of subjects. I really valued the time we spent together, and especially the weekends we would meet up in London to watch a play or two and he would always treat me to a posh meal. At one, that he didn’t know quite the subject matter, I’d not long been told about my first lot of kidney cancer. As we took our seats and looked at the curtain, an oddly pale green one pulled across on what looked like a cheap rail and as it was drawn there was a hospital bed and then it clicked. And yup, the play was about a parent with cancer. He gave me an apologetic look as the lines continued to feel close to home. We may well have been the only two in the audience to smile and stifle a laugh or two until the interval where we could laugh louder at the faux pas – it was quite a good play.

I remember his generosity in other ways. Having explained to him at one of his parties that I didn’t know what good champagne tasted like, he had a glass in hand, but rather than pour me a glass he went to the kitchen and came back with two bottles – different types and said something like, ‘try these, I think you’ll appreciate them.’  I did try them once back home and could tell the difference but never did confess to him that I prefer prosecco.

And most recently the gift for my recovery, the fact he navigated the Victoria Secrets website to get me my preferred perfume. I think he would have found it funny and I found the gift – to help me not smell bad was a beautiful one. And each time I use it I will of course think of him.

I’m so very lucky as his niece to have so many happy and precious memories of my uncle.