When I was a kid my Uncle Eric was almost a mythical figure. He lived with my Aunt Emma in the far-off land of Hawaii. I can’t remember the first time I ever met him, it might have been when my cousin Patrick was born in 1989 so I was 11 going on 12.
In my teenage years, they all moved to Cape Cod, at least for a few years, and I was able to actually get to know him as more than just a face in a series of photographs of a place I’d likely never see. The west coast called again though and eventually, they were off to Las Vegas.
In a time of instability in my own formative years Uncle Eric, Aunt Emma, and Patrick were the lasting image of stability. The sort of tight family unit that I had only felt in tiny fleeting moments. It was only fitting then that when I felt a need for change I would seek to emulate that unit. I was in no position to become a husband or father, but I could grab a small piece by moving to Las Vegas, a land of tremendous opportunity.
I moved to Las Vegas for a change, but also because I knew that if I needed some guidance or advice as an immature 22-year-old I’d find it in my Uncle Eric. The stability and unity that he had with Emma and Patrick gave me a sense of calm that a select few I knew could give. In a huge city overloaded with lights, noise, and vices, I was lucky to have that bit of family normalcy during the times Eric, Emma, and Patrick were around.
Nearly a decade later, when once again instability in my own life got overwhelming, it was Eric and Emma that came to my rescue. Now back on Cape Cod they gave me a stable roof over my head at a time when I felt upside down and drowning in problems. When my Nana died we were all able to grieve together. In the time after Emma’s mother Neta became a surrogate ‘Nana’ and helped me navigate the uncharted waters of losing someone so important to me. That doesn’t happen if Eric and Emma don’t show me the real love that I so desperately needed then.
My time under their roof gave me the ability to begin the travel writing that led to my first book. Basically, all that I have done since is thanks to that opportunity. That right there is something that I have never, and will never forget. I wasn't their child and they didn't have to take me in for that period of time. The doors it ended up opening for me were life-changing.
Eventually the west coast, and retirement, called. Eric, Emma, and Patrick all ended up back in Las Vegas. We weren’t in touch as much as we should have been. As much as I should have been. In running away from the terrible excuse for a father I had I ended up running from those that had always had my back. There were plenty of times I wished Uncle Eric had been my father. I had also wished my Uncle Bob, Uncle Steve, Serpa, Maui, and my Grampa had been my father but that’s beside the point.
I was able to thank my Uncle Eric for having my back when I felt adrift in a sea of madness. I just wish I could have said it again. I was able to celebrate holidays, birthdays, and book events, and also enjoy the mundane moments of everyday life. Now here I am, speaking of my Uncle Eric in the past tense.
Every time I hear some good classic Hawaiian music I will think of my Uncle Eric. He brought that sound to my attention when I lived in Las Vegas. Artists like Maunalua, Ka’au Crater Boys, Country Comfort, Ale’a, and others will always bring back special memories to me now as they’ll remind me of him.
I get so sad wishing that I could have been there more in the last few years and knowing that Uncle Eric’s sun has set, never to rise again. But I am also lucky that I have a lot more great memories of him than I thought I ever would when I was a kid, and he was a mythical figure living in the far-off land of Hawaii.
I love you, thank you, and rest in peace. Aloha au iā ʻoe, mahalo, a hoʻomaha mālie.
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