Uncle RB

The past 72 hours have been one very big blur.

Sunday evening Mr. Berg and I were sitting on the back porch of the shore house drinking strawberry daquiris with my parents when Mr. Berg recieved a text message.

I watch as he pulled the phone from his pocket and opened it.

"Who is it?", I asked without giving my question much thought.

The audable sigh that Mr. Berg let out in response caused me to pause.

"Uncle RB just passed away."

It was 9:30. Nearly an hour earlier the center of the Berg world has stopped spinning, and we were just finding out.

In the next 20 hours we would book Mr. Berg a plane ticket and a rental car. We pretended to sleep, and rose early to pack our bags and leave the shore. On the road home we booked my plane ticket, reserved a hotel room, spoke to family, and mentally repacked our suite cases. I made plans for Sophie and Bob's care and sent several emails to co-workers and friends asking for prayers, good thoughts and grace with my schedule.

It still wasn't real.

Our flight to Boston felt like a blink. Before we knew it were we checking into our hotel and driving to meet the rest of the family.
It still wasn't real.

That evening while Mr. Berg drove his cousin to the airport to pick up his wife and child, I sat in my hotel room and googled Jewish Funeral Customs. As a Presbyterian, I'm slightly behind the eight ball on these things.
Googled scared me. Was it okay if I wore make up? Were they going to rip my clothes? Did I have to look at the body? How many days were we going to sit Shiva?

Yet, it still wasn't real.

The next morning Mr. Berg and I dressed in our thrown together funeral clothes and drove to meet the family. All dressed in black or navy, we loaded into limos and found our way to the funeral home.

It still wasn't real.

The service was beautiful, his three oldest grandchildren age 12, 9 and 7 spoke at the funeral and told everyone their favorite memories.
His son and son-in-law spoke of his finer qualities, his sense of humor, his loyalty and his honesty. We cried, we laughed and we remembered.

The grave side service was brief and deep. I stood to the side and watch as a line formed to shovel dirt onto his coffin. I looked to my right and read the grave stones of the Bergs who had gone before him. It appeared he was in great company

It still wasn't real.

Later that afternoon I meet every living Berg in the New England Area. I played with the kids, I thanked people for coming. I complimented the potato salad and put coleslaw on my sandwich. I retold our wedding story about 90 times and pointed my husband out at every turn.

We remembered Uncle RB, we told stories, we laughed when we realized we were all saying the same thing. He would have loved the party, but he would have shown up late and left early.

As as the last sandwich tray was put away and the last sour pickle was eaten, we said our farewells and took part of the family back to Uncle RB's for the evening.

I spent my last moments in his house sitting in his easy chair with his youngest grandson. I kept hoping he would come around the corner and shew us out of his seat. I kept hoping to hear his laugh and for him to get cross with us for clearing all the expired food out of his fridge. In my head I kept hearing "Put that back, it's still good."

Even as we pulled out of the driveway, it wasn't real.

This morning Mr. Berg and I flew home and I helped his repack his suitcase for the third time as he left on a business trip.

I tidied up the house and got in my car to leave for work.

I was .2 miles out of our development when the tears began to fall.

It's real.


Uncle RB was my favorite member of the family on Mr. Berg's family. He was a balding, hunched over, little Jewish man. He smoked a pack a day and had the typical smokers cough and smokers laugh too.
And laugh he did. He had the driest, quirkiest sense of humor. He was a closeted Republican, he watched Judge Judy and always read the Sunday paper for the best deals.
He was famous for feeding his grand kids frosted flakes and m&ms for breakfast, devil dogs for lunch.

I spent 5 Thanksgivings staying at his house. I never once had a pillow case or top sheet on my bed. I always came home with a sinus infection from breathing in his smokey house.
Of all the Bergs I have come to know and love, it was Uncle RB that spent the most time getting to know me. He loved to hear about our construction projects, he loved to give me advice on healthcare for my company.
He tried in vain to convert me to an mac book user. He never understood why I brought so many Ugg boots on a 5 day vacation.
He made fun of me for loving the Yankees and driving a Ford. He never once let me in his Corvette. He said I couldn't appreciate it.
He taught me to love lox and cream cheese.

Every Thanksgiving morning I would try not to laugh as he called his friends and left messages saying "Well, if you don't call me back, I guess that means you're dead."
When they called back, he'd answer the phone with "Natick Police Department."

He loved the Thanksgiving circulars. He was had me looking for deals on green bags, to keep his bananas fresh and socks, because you could never have too many.

He lived for his family, he never stopped mourning his wife who died ten years earlier.
I don't think we will never stop mourning for him.

I will forever miss his laugh and his smile. It won't be the same this Thanksgiving without Uncle RB sleeping in the corner pretending to watch the football game.
It would be the same with the grandkids asking if he was going out to kill bugs when he stepped out to have a smoke.
I will never forget him at our wedding. It rained and his 40 year old dress shoes fell apart.
He wanted to sing amore, but ran out of time.

He was our life blood, our guiding light and our greatest family asset.
He was also the biggest hoarder you ever knew.... it will take us YEARs to get through everything in his house.
Heck, it took us an hour to get through the deep freeze.

I am glad he is at peace. I am glad his death was quick, painless and without sadness.
I only hope I am as lucky when my time comes.

I know he is in heaven with his wife and I know that even though our family is mourning. Deep down, we are all rejoicing that his is whole again.

But I'll still miss that laugh and that smile.
Thank You Uncle RB for so many great memories.
We will miss you.