Uncle Willie,
Today you were supposed to turn 93. Today we were supposed to marvel, once again, at your immortality, bask in your joie de vivre, and give thanks for another year well lived. It still doesn’t feel real to me that you’re gone, someone who aged but never got old.
You humbled us all that night on the dance floor when you exclaimed “this is how we dance to Gaga! Come on now, I saw it at a club last week in the City!” At Johnny’s wedding in Cabo, you wouldn’t be outdone when the wedding party jumped in the pool. After carefully removing your suit and folding it neatly on the deck you joined us stating “sorry for the delay, but there’s no way in hell that linen suit was coming in the pool!” We didn’t mind the wait.
Time spent with you was always beautiful- learning about Asian art, enjoying expertly prepared meals always served on “the good plates,” listening to you hum soothing melodies as you dutifully attended to your guests. As a kid, there was nothing more thrilling than sipping sparkling cider from one of your crystal goblets while thumbing through the pages of your heavy, expensive, coffee table books. Your living room was where I first saw Maplethorpe’s photographs, glimpsed the glorious Cinque Terra, and read about World War II. I will never forget my first nibble of baklava sitting in your kitchen in Fairway Park. Every delicious and delicate layer was to be savored because “the Greeks do food perfectly.” Your home made all of Hayward seem cosmopolitan.
We had the best time planning my travel to and from college. Checking in with you on the flight loads was just an excuse to catch up, cackle a bit and share naughty jokes. Your final words before we hung up were “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Hell, I’ve done it all!” The time I took the last stand by seat in first class, relegating Barbara Boxer and her carry-on ball gown to coach, I couldn’t wait to land to call you. The senator, who hoped to get a good night’s rest ahead of Clinton’s inaugural ball, had lost out to a college student on a companion pass with 40+ year seniority. “We voted for ya, but you aren’t getting my first-class seat!” we howled. Oh! And that whole “free champagne” pro tip you shared before boarding our flight from Paris has remained a secret until now.
Christmas was how you showed your love. You sent us mint chocolate layer cakes every year until the company went belly up in the late 90s. We cut the special treat in to thin slices and enjoyed it for weeks (sometimes for breakfast). You gifted me ornaments from Gump’s or Neiman Marcus. You’d sit next to me and tell me all the reasons why the ornament reminded you of me. Because of you, perfect lace angels, marionette ballerinas, sequined elephants, elegant sleighs and cheerful snowmen and dozens of stories about them don my tree every year. They will forever remind me of your wonderful, generous, thoughtful spirit.
You were the most elegant man I ever knew. The perfect hat, the perfect layered look, the perfect depiction of Banana Republic’s latest floor set. You bought me my first pashmina. You gave me a gorgeous beaded evening bag that belonged to your mother for prom. Years later when I couldn’t find the right necklace for a cocktail party, you gifted me a piece of her vintage costume jewelry. You were flawless, timeless, and classic.
The world isn’t as beautiful, as bright, or as interesting without you in it. It seems small and dim and lacks glitter. It is hard to imagine your absence from all of life’s moments to come since you’ve been a part of every single one up until now.
I’m particularly sorry you’ll miss Trump’s impeachment. We will not be riding around in your car with the windows rolled down, middle fingers up, as you yell “I’m an old white man and even I think he’s an asshole!” I can promise you there will be champagne, however, and I’ll drink enough for us both.
I love you forever and always,
Bri
