we'll miss you, fred z...

I'm back in the air, flying down to Los Angeles to see my family and say goodbye to my Uncle Fred, who died last week. It was only a year ago that I flew down to say goodbye to my Aunt Liz. Though this time, the news was totally unexpected and it just doesn't feel right to keep having these family reunions for funerals. It feels a little empty knowing he won't be there with his constant smile and snarky remarks, and I wonder if this is just how it is as you get older and see how family dynamics and shape changes and evolves.

Last night I was trying to come up with some memories and I was talking with the kids about Fred. I told them the exciting stuff--how he worked in Hollywood on special effects and that as a kid, it was a thrill to see his name on the credits of movies I loved. That he'd worked with movie stars and had signed photos of them in his house. But mostly my memories aren't all that exciting to turn into stories for the kids. How do you explain the comforting humor in knowing that after a big holiday meal, Uncle Fred would sprawl out on the living room floor and take a nap? Or that it was inevitable at every family seder at his house, he'd hide the afikomen behind the huge Mickey Mouse clock? I remember his hugs were so strong they hurt and that his relationship with my dad, his brother, was one that I admired.

And then the bright side of seeing family unexpectedly.

Already I've connected with all five of my siblings and two of my cousins and I'm still in air. (BTW, I am totally loving the GoGo Inflight Internet Access). I saw some Hawaiian floral and fauna (Does a squishy niece count as fauna? I'm saying yes.) talking to my brother Dan in Kauai, and a coupla tan little nephews. And then loaded up my Google camera for a chat with David. Ahhh, the Interwebs are so cool. And they've absolutely helped me deal with the incessant and nauseating babytalk and macking the couple next to me has been practicing throughout this whole flight.

We've come a long way from Uncle Fred's cool Pachinko machine we played non-stop at his house. Somehow things don't feel all that different, though...

We'll miss you Uncle Fred...