Aspects of Love

"Love is something eternal--the aspect may change, but not the essence."

~Vincent van Gogh

The tired, lonely stare of the sailor in this photograph belongs to the man who was my uncle. His name was Robert Edmund Register. He never married or had any children, but there was no mistaking his heart when it came to home and family. The five children, including me, who were nieces and nephews to him made strong connections to the tired sailor in this picture.   And even in the oblivion of the lightness of childhood, we intuitively knew that he needed us. We naturally assumed a place in the life of this single man that said, "yes, you belong to us."  Somehow we were his kids too, folding him into hearts and arms that were nothing less than immediate and not at all distant.

My earliest memories are full of days at his home on Byrom Drive in Clearwater, Florida, playing his piano with my four year old child's hands.  I was basically just making noise, tormenting all of the adults in the house.  I remember seeing him come home from his job at the bank.  He was very dashing in his suit and tie, pulling into the driveway in his white Mercury Cougar.  And I remember too, not waiting too long to ask him to play a song for me...some young song that a child might love.  And, eventually, he would come over to the piano and do that.  I was drawn to the metronome that sat on the top of the lovely spinet piano in his home asking ever so timidly if I could wind it.  I sat on that piano bench as long as he would play.  I was fascinated as I watched his fingers fly over the ivory keys, loving the beautiful contrast of black and white, the flats and sharps that shaped the magical sound that poured from the seasoned wood of the instrument.  I thought he was the coolest.  I loved him dearly in my childish way.

The days passed, eventually turning from months and then to years, and we still visited my Uncle Bob's house.  My brothers and sister and I would slide down the hill to the pond and hide behind the curved palm that was nearby.  There was an alligator in that pond and we waited hours for him to show himself.  Uncle Bobby generously supplied us with the loaves of white bread that we delivered, piece by piece, to the ducks.  We played outside until our cheeks were pink.  When we came inside the house again, I would ask him again to play some songs for me.   He had plenty of other things to do, but mostly he always came and sat on the piano bench to oblige me.  I was too big by then to share the seat, so I stood behind and sang.  It never occurred to me that maybe at that particular moment he would rather be doing something else.  I felt special that he was playing just for me.  I was eleven then.  I was growing up.  He was older.  The aspect had changed.

My uncle moved later, to Dunedin, near the beach.  By then, I was a teenager and old enough to have a thousand questions.  On weekends, I drove myself to Dunedin to hang out with my uncle and my grandfather.  I usually brought a friend.  The beach was nearby, but we played Yachtzee and after everyone would drift away to watch television or go to bed, Uncle Bob and I would sit around the dining room table and talk--or I should say, I talked mostly and he listened.  Sometimes he would offer up his opinion, but only if I asked, but I felt heard.  I respected his opinion.  And still, I asked him to play the piano for me.  And it was still beautiful.  Life was moving quickly and carrying us along.  I still loved him dearly, now as a teenager.

So today, years later, I'm finally grown but sadly without him since he has long since passed away.  As I write about my uncle the memories rush back, and I am reminded of how relationships are not static; of how they change and they grow with time; and of how all the many small encounters in our lives form the sum of what we become.  And I am reminded that this sailor in the picture, this quiet, gentle man, was a man who loved his family.

There are all kinds of love: the love of a parent for a child, the love between siblings, the love between two best friends.  That love shapes us and shelters us.  It lifts us when we are hurt.

All the love we had for him still remains.  I try to remember that when I miss him; that love is something eternal.  The aspect may change, but not the essence.