Farewell, Uncle Bobby

This morning I’m off to attend my Uncle Bobby’s funeral. I spent time this week sorting through photos to use in our tribute today. Of all the options, this one — of course — caught my eye.

On the back it says 1934, and under some glue, I think it might say who the dog is, but I didn’t want to risk damaging the photo to find out.

Without belaboring my “issues,” suffice it to say that I grew up sans a father, so men like my Grandpa and my Great Uncle Bobby (and other uncles … all now long gone) provided the only dad-like influences in my life. It’s not much of a stretch to say, in many ways, I come from a community of almost entirely women. And despite what the movies and TV portray about Italian families, these women were really something.

And, yet, always there … was Uncle Bobby. He walked my sister down the aisle at her wedding. He stood in as family elder at my cousin Michelle’s. He beamed alongside my mom, holding my newborn brother. I have few childhood memories that don’t include him.

I cannot imagine forgetting the sound of his voice, hollering “Allo” (rather than hello) upon arrival. The pronunciation one of few held over from my immigrant great grandparents.

Farewell, then. May he be at peace.