Endings and Beginnings

My dad's oldest brother, Uncle Bobby, passed away just before Thanksgiving. I don't have too many memories about him, but I adore my cousins Magnolia and Shannon and once pretended I was Scarlett O'Hara at his sprawling country house in Simpsonville.

Bobby's was the second funeral for me in November, the first being Sarah's sweet, wonderful mom Sally. In the weird twists of life, I actually knew Sally better than my Uncle Bobby. She brought me a set of screwdrivers for a housewarming gift when I bought my first home on Picadome, and I brought her a cake for her 43rd wedding anniversary. I know she thought I was the reason Sarah always smelled like smoke in high school, but despite my bad reputation, she trusted me to flush her IV and thus was my first patient that I nursed without supervision. I barely recognized my Uncle Bobby at the family reunion/Pa's 100th birthday party in April.

Family is immensely important to me, and not just my immediate family. I have Scotts that I am bound to, Hensleys that I have adopted, Bachmans that I grew up with, and friends who are so close they feel like family. I'm not always as good to them as I should be, but when it really counts, I try to be there. So when Uncle Bobby died, when that loss left my dad with an oozing sadness, I headed to Louisville with chicken noodle soup, crusty bread, pumpkin cookies, and my camera.

I sat with my Aunt Cindy, my dad, and my cousins and poured over pictures of Uncle Bobby. I listened to stories of limo rides in New York City, laughed at all the what-were-we-thinking hairstyles, stared in disbelief at how much he looked like James Caan, and got to know the man who sent all of us those sweatshirts with the Manhattan skyline when I was in elementary school.

This year has been saturated with endings -- Uncle Bobby, Sally, the Onheiser's dad, Jess's dad. But it's also been one filled with beginnings -- Lilly, Kieron, Elly Gail, Charlotte, Anna, Hanley. I don't know what 2012 holds, but if 2011 taught me anything, it's to live every day like the end of the world is on its way.