building – Page 2 – I Promised Her A Dachshund

hello, little one.

its been some time since i’ve written to you. I’ve been so wrapped up in you, work, your mom, and your rapidly arriving baby brother.

i wanted to write to you again, you little beauty, you big sister – because youre at the stage where youre starting to make memories. memories are what we interpret the world around us to be and how it impacts us. it impacts us emotionally, cognitively, physically – and what our memories are depends on how we are impacted. not everyone remembers the same event the same; people see things differently and for different reasons.

like the time you cried when mama wouldnt let you play with the light socket, or when dad grabbed you on the stairs and carried you rather than let you climb. or, that time i spent a very long day with my uncle when i was around 10 or 11.

my uncle michael (your great-uncle) is a very unique person. uncle mike is the oldest of his siblings but very much the youngest at heart. one day, uncle mike took us (me, your aunt jessica, aunt ashley, cousin angela, cousin derrin, cousin bryan) to a state park for a hike. we took wiffle ball bats, wiffle balls, and mitts with us to play for a bit, and set off on our adventure. we walked about two miles to the entrance to the state park, and walked down the concrete slope, weaving back and forth, touching the smooth roughness of the stone embankments on either side of the road/path. we walked a good ways, catching up with our cousins from texas, and had a great time. A few hours later, we were still walking.

we had lost sight of anyone else in the park or on the path, and the sun was losing its shine; the sky had become golden in a ‘time to get home before the streetlights come on’ sort of way. we talked to uncle mike about where we were, asked if we could go home, or if he knew where we were going. Mike would playfully tell us to stop whining, or dismiss it and we’d playfully take a few swings at his 500 pound self with our wiffle ball bats and keep walking.

eventually, it got dark. we got scared. we found a way to climb up the side of a ravine and emerged back onto a street somewhat close to our grandmothers house after doubling back a ways through the park and walking about 11 miles in all. the police had been called, parents worried, everyone on alert. eventually we were seen and picked up, and uncle mike banned from ever watching us again.

i held onto that memory for a long time as ‘mike is such an idiot’ before realizing a few things: my uncle mike struggled with mental health all his life, and im very sure was autistic. he suffered through relationships, family dynamics, and trying to be something more than ‘difficult’. he was a gifted journalist but lacked ability to wash his own clothes. he drove a car, kept his schedule, lived on his own- but didnt have the ability to clean his apartment, cook, or keep himself clean. he relied heavily on people to help him; people who ridiculed him, blamed him, and called him a slob. people he called family, people who were supposed to love and support him, people who never simply said ‘i love you’ without a ‘but…’ after it.

i realized that day, my uncle was trying to connect with us. he tried to do something fun with kids without ever having any idea what kids do, or how to be a responsible adult chaperone. he had as much knowledge of how to keep kids safe as we kids had, if not less. he wanted to give us a great day of fun, but had no clue. he was over 500 pounds walking 11 miles in the summer heat. he very much could have been hurt or worse, leaving us kids to manage that situation. but he hadnt thought about that, because he didnt know he needed to. he wanted to spend time with us, and thats as far as his capacity went. was it irresponsible? absolutely. dangerous? very much. regrettable? always. his intentions were purely to spend time with us, to love us, to be someone in our lives and do what he could with what he had. he tried to the best of his ability, and thankfully avoided any egregious consequences.

your aunts and i laugh about that day whenever we talk about your great uncle mike. it was scary to go through, but looking back we can laugh now. it was a day he hoped to connect with us and have us remember for other, more positive, happier reasons. it was a day he hoped he could be the hero, the good guy, the awesome uncle rather than the broke, aloof, idiot brother he had come to know himself as.

our memories dont always come to us clearly; they honestly rarely do. it takes time to see the purpose or reason or explanation for things that in the moment we might not see, or appreciate, or understand fully. his actions will never be excused, but they are being understood. we want to always seek understanding, because we dont have forever. we dont always have days, or weeks, or months to ignore an issue or allow distance between ourselves. i dont think you’ll get to meet your great uncle before his time on earth is over, and i apologize for that. he would absolutely love you, and the little smile you give each and every day that looks just like my grandfather’s.

in the moment it may feel like we’re a little harsh, or hypocritical, or illogical, but know we want you to be safe and happy. theres nothing we would ever do to harm you, or bring you pain. you are who you are, and thats enough. there will never be a ‘but…’ after any ‘i love you’ or any reason for your unhappiness other than you not quite understanding our intentions just yet.

i love you, little one. i cant wait for your first hug with your little brother the same way i cant wait for your 10,000th one.

because i promised her a dachshund

hello, little one.

building is itself a peculiar word. it has multiple meanings, directions, and purposes. ‘building’ can be an action or a thing – either building something or simply ‘a building’.

your great grandfather Gordon loved building things. he was a toolmaker for Ridgid Tool for i think 35 years, then worked as a clerk at Builder’s Square Hardware Store giving advice and guidance to people seeking help for projects. he taught me how to use a grinder, a table saw, and most importantly – a hammer. he taught me that the way things are isnt how they always will be, or have to be. i could change things to how i wanted them or how i needed them. all i needed were the right tools.

with a hammer and nails i could turn scraps of wood into my very own sword. with a grinder i could sharpen my blade so sharp i could cut weeds with a single swing. i could help replace my grandma’s wooden squirrels when they fell off their trees. i could.

the building where your great grandfather taught me how to build things might not belong to our family anymore, but the building itself houses so many memories and parts of me within it. the same way our house now hold parts of you, me, your mom, and all of our family. and soon, your baby brother or sister.

buildings where we build things are special places full of special people. look at our house – from the moment we bought the house your mom and i have been building. building our family with you, building the backyard to make sure you have a safe place to play, building the front porch, and building a new kitchen where i can teach you to cook and what it means to spend time and share with friends and family. where your moms father taught me all there is to know about kitchen demo, renovations, cabinet building, and maintaining your appliances.

a building is just a structure, but building within it takes patience, love, and understanding. with patience, love, and understanding a building becomes a home. and a building where we build things like families. a home where you will learn to use a hammer, a hairbrush, an impact driver, a chefs knife, makeup brushes, and paint sprayers. a building where youll build things like your education, your friendships, your heartbreaks, your future, and your best most loved things.

a building where we build things for you and the home youll know forever as part of the life weve built because i promised her a dachshund.