Saying good-bye to Robbie and my Aunt Irma

Last Sunday in New York City was a glorious day. It was the first really warm day of the spring – over 80 degrees – and our favorite café along the Hudson River was finally open after a long winter season.  Our extended family of four – me, Larry, Dana and Nate – sat by the water for more than two hours, downing two bottles of Prosecco and a handful of Coronas. It was pure bliss.

It was during the latter minutes of sitting by the sparkling water that the first Facebook message came through sharing news of the death of a shining light of a man who had been a friend in our earlier Gainesville life. Robbie was just – it’s hard to explain – but he was just larger-than-life, with the most wonderful grin sharing space on his face with these marvelously twinkling blue eyes.  Robbie – along with his partner Dan – managed the wine shop whose door I often entered. He was one of a handful of people allowed to call me “Q” – and he gave me one of my more memorable nicknames: Chardonnay slut. I can still hear him yelling “Hey Q – I have several new bottles you HAVE to try.” Note: Thankfully, we’ve branched out a bit in our choice of wines, 15+ years later.

I still remember coming home from work and having my family (all of them – Larry, Dana and Jenni) sitting me on the couch and telling me they had awful news. I half expected them to share that someone had died. Instead, it was news that the wine shop had fired both Dan and Robbie – and that these guys who had become like family would help us no more. It took that wine shop a long time to recover – because Dan and Robbie had built a family of people who loved to shop with them. It was years before I entered its doors again.

We attempted to stay in touch with Robbie and Dan, but it was tough. Robbie battled demons – and after a while, news filtered through Gainesville that he and Dan had separated,and that Robbie had moved to a small Tennessee town where his family lived. We stayed closer to Dan - seeing him at a new wine shop he managed and having him handle the alcohol for the engagement party we threw for Dana and Nate. Later, with the wonder of Facebook, I connected again with Robbie and we’d occasionally chat online – sharing what life was like for him in a small, conservative town in Tennessee compared with my upbringing in an equally small Kentucky town. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him – can’t imagine any places more opposite than Gainesville, Florida and a rural Tennessee town.

Late Sunday afternoon – about the time I’d gotten my head around Robbie's death – my phone rang and my cousin Carla’s name appeared on the screen. While my cousins and I have done a better job of staying in touch over the past few years, I always figure when one of them is calling, it’s not likely to be good news. And it wasn’t.

Carla was calling to share that her Mom – my Aunt Irma, the wife of my Dad’s younger brother, Cecil – had died earlier that day. Aunt Irma was one of the two relatives from my parents’ generation – either side – still alive. She was a wonderful woman – who along with Cecil raised five children, the oldest a boy who died of muscular dystrophy at a young age. The only one left now from my parents' generation is Uncle Kenny’s wife, Florence. I hope this doesn’t sound mean, but Aunt Florence usually wasn’t at family outings because she didn't feel well, and my Mom – who could be quite feisty – said on more than one occasion that even though Aunt Florence never felt well, she’d likely outlive them all. She has.

I spent the rest of that Sunday night trying to figure out how to get to Louisville for Aunt Irma’s funeral. I didn’t succeed. Thanks to the ridiculous system we have for air travel in this country, I couldn’t find a flight from New York to Louisville for less than $900 – unless you count the almost $600 flight I could take from New York to Orlando – yes Orlando – and then to Louisville. You can’t be serious!?

So, this Friday, I’ll think of my Kentucky family as they say good-bye to my Aunt Irma – and I’m sure somewhere in Tennessee, Robbie’s family will celebrate his life and send his sweet soul soaring. I hope both families will know how many people – whether there in person or scattered around the globe – will be with them in spirit, and hope and pray that their memories will provide them comfort.