When I was 46 years old, I was introduced to a dead man. He had been one of my first cousins. His name, Robert. Robert was “hidden” away from the family for more than 40 years. I remember seeing him once when I was just a kid of 5 or 6. He seemed a bit odd to me, but he was sweet and kind and I liked him. As I was growing up I asked my Aunt May about him many times, but all that she would say was,
“He’s dead”.
“How did he die?” I’d ask.
“You don’t want to know.” She would tell me before she changed the subject and directed my attention on to something else.
It took Aunt May’s death to bring him back to life.
I know that everyone has one of those "relatives they don't talk about" in their family. I’m also sure that there are many family happenings that most families would like to sweep under the rug and forget ever occurred. It appears that my family was good at hiding at least one of those unmentionables. So good that our family had no idea who any of us really were. Several family members tried to draw a family tree, and it ended with our great-grand parents. It seems that our great-grand parents were dropped on planet Earth by aliens and we are the result of that abandonment. There’s really no other explanation.
That’s sad. There are six first cousins and no parents left. The keeper of the history was our Aunt May, she died at five weeks shy of her 89th birthday. With her died any remaining bridges to our history. Before she died, she burnt what remained of our past and covered up all the trails that might lead to them. Even the 300 year old family bible was gone by the time she died. We have no idea where it went. She may have died with Alzheimer’s, but she was clear enough to bury the family secrets in places so safe that we’ll never locate them.
After May’s death. the remaining family members came together to read her Will, and mourn. The remainder of the weekend was shocking and confusing. As we came altogether and talked, we discovered that each of our families had deliberately kept us from being together as we grew up. Even though most of us grew up within miles of each other, we were never allowed to get together and play or just talk. It was as if the other family members didn’t exist. We knew that the others were there, but we never questioned our parent’s distancing of themselves from their siblings and our other family members.
Enter Robert, a rotund, scraggy haired, rough bearded, crocked teethed, arm-less gentle giant. His smile lit up the room when he entered it. He was born at a time when Thalidomide was used to stop a woman’s premature labor and save her baby’s life. The doctors had no idea, at the time, that the resulting deformities, that many of the children were born with, were caused by the, “Wonder Drug." Robert was a reminder that medical intervention doesn’t always have favorable outcomes.
He had arrived late because his car battery wouldn't turn over the engine. I watched him with curiosity as he introduced himself and his partner to us all. Robert was quite the talker.
As he joined his, very missed, sister and us at dinner table that first night, I became even more enamored with him. Even tough he didn’t have arms; he had one finger attached to his right shoulder that he used with the dexterity of a brain surgeon. I found him utterly amazing. Through all that he had been through, I noticed that he was still able to love with his eyes. He had the most beautiful sparking blue eyes. When he looked at me, my heart just melted. His voice was soft and smooth like the down on a newborn ducking. In fact, he walked a little like a newborn duckling. His butt waggling to and fro as his little stubs rocked back and forth in rhythm to the steps of his large paddle-like feet.
Robert was all too perfect. He’d learned to adapt despite what many of us would call a, “major” handicap. Thirty years ago he’d formed a beneficial partnership with Ralph, a piano savant, who lived in the same structured living environment that Robert had been placed in. They discovered a symbiotic relationship similar to that of the shark and the pilot fish. Ralph swam through the murky water hunting down prey and Robert clung to his every movement waiting for the excitement to happen. In human terms, Ralph was protector and Robert was the glue that kept the two together. They needed each other.
I watched the gentleness that the two poured onto each other. Robert would sit quietly and wait for Ralph to bring a meal to him. Robert would then graciously stroke Ralph’s ego with a compliment or a touch of his head to Ralph’s hand. Many of these intimate moments passed between the two, bringing charming smiles to each of their faces. When Robert needed to use the restroom, Ralph would follow him in like a shadow and help. Neither made the other stand out. They respected the unique qualities that each other had. Through the years they’d bounded over the obstacles of their, “handicaps” and formed a bond stronger than most marriages.
As I left the group to head home, Robert gave me a gift. He probably had no idea that he was doing it, but it was a gift that I will never forget. Robert gave me hug. It was the biggest hug I have ever received. This mountain of a man stood up, leaned over my short, fat body and embraced me with his head, shoulders and mostly his heart. I’ve never felt that much warmth from a person before. He didn’t have his arms to rely on; he had to use his entire being to show his devotion.
As the hug ended, I realized the crime our families had committed by, “hiding” this man away. He was the symbol for all the “right” reasons to allow our, “handicapped” children and adults to walk, crawl, wheel, slide, stumble and fall into our everyday lives. They have so much to teach, “normal” people.
As I left the get together, I told Robert,
"Thank you! You’ve opened up a part of my heart that was closed by, blind and hardened people. You are truly a child of God and I thank you for being the best you, you can be and sharing that with me.
Candace Carteen
I have been writing since the age of eight. Over my lifetime I have written and sold dozens of short stories and poems. Although, I'm not a great poem author., I seem to be able to write great poems for contests. They don't pay much, but the winnings are fun; two dozen roses, tickets to movies, and a year of jiffy pop popcorn. I am digging out my novels and finishing them up. I have 10 waiting for a publisher. Since I just retired, I can work on those projects now.