I received a call from my father this morning saying my aunt's husband died. I just accepted the news at face value; he wasn't particularly old, but he'd faced health troubles for some time. I went through the day as a stoic, but now memories and thoughts are flooding. I feel pain for my "Aunts." That's the hardest part about knowing he's passed.
She met him somewhat late in life. He was into motorcycles at the time and I suppose they fell in love on long rides through vistas of green, orange, and yellow. Beers and conversations shared in the evenings blossomed into a romance and a proposal. I was a young teenager when they read their vows.
I wasn't sure about Nate at first. My childhood's life purpose was to convince my Aunts to quit smoking. I received a strange letter from Aunts after years of pestering and badgering. No note, only a crumpled package of cigarettes. She quit and my mission was successful. After some time with Nate, however, she picked the habit back up. I must have grimaced at the news, but didn't take up my previous crusade.
The wedding was simple, foul weather spoiled the outdoor plans, but not the spirits of the newly wed couple. The reception was great fun. We played games, there was music, dancing, and delicious cake. I figured Nate must be alright. His friends and family seemed nice and my Aunts liked him. I decided I'd like him too.
I asked my dad about the one thing that troubled me. "He's been married before. Isn't that wrong?" Life must have been so simple then! "Sometimes people make mistakes, but we forgive them." There was one more sentence. Perhaps, "life goes on," or "we accept people for who they are now." I understood the essence of his reply. We're family. We're in this together.
The summer of my 16th birth year Aunts and Uncle Nate, whom I usually referred to simply as Nate, took us on a camping trip. He was a good guy and my uncle by marriage, but he got in the game a little too late to be called by titles. My brother, sister and I had a great time. We gathered kindling, helped with meals (mostly by eating), and had stick fights in the open fields. One day we played a game of eye spy and I was so determined that my sister not guess what I spied that she walked across a field to point at a green colored state of Minnesota on some family's RV. Of course, it was exactly what I was looking at, but my rudeness caused her to step on an angry bees' nest. I've felt bad for that moment ever since, but they never scolded me. They rubbed tobacco on the bite following a neighboring camper's advice and she was alright after awhile. Most men would have yelled and carried on and that'd be my memory of the trip. But Nate, he just took it in stride.
My parents joined us at the end of the weekend and Nate began telling his stories over the campfire. He served in the military circa Vietnam and started talking about submarines and races in the service. He asked, "How old are you? 16?" "Yep." I replied. "Let's see, in four years you'll be in those submarine races." I must have looked crazy trying to figure out what he meant. And when I did finally figure it out I couldn't believe him! He said that in front of my mother! Yea, I finally realized why she was looking that way at the campfire.
Uncle Nate was a character. He always had a smile, even when he was exhausted. Let him catch his breath and he'd be smiling. He had a story to share and a jovial laugh. During the holidays he grew a white beard that his grandchildren must have loved. I always imagined that he'd dress the part of Santa when my son and his cousin grew a little older.
Nate Finch is survived by children, grandchildren, his wife Mary, many friends and family members who will hold him dearly in their hearts, and his stories which none shall soon forget.