My uncle, also my godfather and my mother’s youngest brother, has always been a significant influence in my life. I used to explain the closeness of our relationship by virtue of the commitment he had made to be my godfather, but as I got older, I became increasingly aware that his view of religion make this explanation unlikely. A more reasonable explanation was that we seemed to connect at more significant level than the otherwise close relationships we all enjoyed as cousins, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces in my mother’s large family. My uncle and I share a closeness forged through being of similar, though sometimes augmentative, mind.
In the early 90s his first marriage unexpectedly broke up. I was in my early 20s at the time and keen to engage and be engaged and so through phone calls and frequent visits I followed the course of his life through this break down and separation and then, joyfully, into a new relationship. We became much closer and I spent the Christmas of 1994 with him, revising for my final university exams with Janet, the woman he had recently met.
Janet was a particularly special person, a rare combination of poise, elan, intellect and grace, equally as capable of debating the finer points of Kant as hosting a dinner party of exquisite finery or being a consummate mother to her three children. Her influence on me was momentous. Between her and my uncle they persuaded me into a life changing decision.
Their relationship was fairy tale; two people finding each other late in life when perhaps the ultimate ideals of romance, passion and intellectual engagement had become somewhat opaque with the patina life tends to result in. Despite some initial setbacks, the product of ill-tempered influences that wrenched at Janet’s sense of loyalty to the family ideal, she and my uncle were married and their life was bliss.
Three years later, Janet found a substantial lump in her throat. A biopsy revealed it to be a secondary cancerous tumour; the search for the primary revealed she had both aggressive bowel cancer and multiple other secondary tumours. Her prognosis was poor and she was given approximately 12 months to live.
My uncle was with her to the last moment. In early December 2003, in the very early hours of the morning, he awoke to hear her breathing, a soft wind rattling in the shallow pool of her lungs. He said to her quietly ‘I think it’s time to let go’ and then she died.
My own grief for her passing was both overwhelming and, perhaps naively, unforeseen. I hadn’t been prepared for this. We all grieved for her loss and it took a long time to come to terms with her passing. My uncle was able to move on and find new love, Katherine, in her own way equally as special as Janet and with as much warmth and love as you could ever hope to find in the person you wish to spend your later years with.
My uncle and I still see each other and talk though the spirited debate has moved into areas that are now less productive or rewarding. The more gratifying experiences are simply to be in his and Katherine’s company, to enjoy their wonderful home and vast gardens that have been lovingly cultivated. Their garden is a bounty as is their company.
On my most recent visit, I wanted to make his portrait and I wanted to find some small sliver of memory for Janet as well. I felt perhaps that there were remembrances of her passing that he and I needed to share just one more time. This portrait is the reflection of her passing, the moment they both let go. It is that memory I asked him to hold for just one moment. Afterwards we hugged and cried a little and then drank tea on the veranda and were at peace in his garden again.
