Uncle Bobby—A Living Gift From A Dying Man

“I sent that last rocket to the moon,” 65-year-old Uncle Bobby said with a deep chuckle as we sat at his kitchen table in Torrance, California. “Sure was a beaut.” He picked up a packet of Camel’s sitting next to his can of beer and banged it against his fist. Even a diagnosis of Cancer couldn’t stop his smoking habit. 

He put the cigarette between his teeth, flicked open his lighter and lit the end all in one graceful movement. It was one he’d been practicing since he was ten, before we had warning signs about tobacco, and before it was against the law to sell to minors. The tip of his Camel turned red like the stop light across the street. The inhale sounded like an angry rattle snake, the exhale like air whistling from a punctured tire. Grey smoke circled his head, drifted out the open window behind him and mingled with the midday rays cascading over the geraniums on his balcony. 

Aunt Gisela, his wife, stopped preparing lunch, scurried to the table, wiggled her hips, and shook her head. Deep lines sprang up on her forehead. “Stehem, stehaw, stawe,” she mumbled in her charming Cuban-English accent. 

Quick as a wink, she pulled out a can of Lysol from a pocket in her red apron, held it in front of her like a metal shield and pressed the button. “SSSST,” the scent of pine cut through the tobacco smell. “ My uncle coughed and waved his hand. “You tryin’ to kill us with that stuff.” He smashed his Camel in the crystal ashtray and reached for his beer. 

“Ju put away dat beer’n drink papaya juice,” she ordered. “Fresh, I make today.” She zipped by us like an athlete running a marathon, took a large pitcher of papaya juice out of the refrigerator, poured it into a glass and set it in front of him. 

Uncle Bobby loosened his thin fingers from the beer and clasped them around the juice. “I don’t know why I put up with you.” He muttered before downing the juice. 

“ImpoSSebul,” Aunt Gisela sighed like a hurt child. “I try save ju, ju try da patience of Job.” Tears flashed in her eyes. “Ju Momma’n Poppa jus waitin’ across da bridge to take ju away from me.” 

I glanced up at the photo of my grandparents hanging on the kitchen wall, and smiled. They had twelve children. Uncle Bobby was the eleventh. Nine, including my mom were gone now. They died too young. Most, from Cancer. 

“Yup, ju Momma’n Poppa, brothers’n seesters, gettin’ closer all da time. Ju makin’ it hard for me. I no want you to cross dat death bridge.” Aunt Gisela bit down on her words. 

I leaned back in the chair. “You think there is a bridge?” I asked Aunt Gisela. “Ju betcha,” she said emphatically. “But, only good peoples get to cross.” She glared at Uncle Bobby. If it was possible to transform a rebel into an angel, then she’d have my bet. 

“Hog wash and horse patootie, Gisela” Uncle Bobby said. “You’ve got more hair brained beliefs than anybody I’ve ever run across in my whole life.” He reached for his Camels. “And I’ve known quite a few hair brained people.”

I bit down on my lower lip. Maybe I was one of those hair brains. A woman who lived down the street from me in Hollywood used to talk to dead people. We called her Doctor Mary, but she wasn’t a doctor. Not in the medical sense anyway. 

“This young man rang my doorbell one day,” Doctor Mary said as we sat together having a cup of tea in her living room. “And, being the trusting soul I am, I let him in. He was dressed up real nice, suit, white shirt, red tie.” She fingered the loose, grey strands of hair from around her cherub face and brushed them back towards her ponytail. “But, he wasn’t happy. A perfume of pain followed him in my door and sat with him on my sofa.” Doctor Mary pursed her lips. “He told me that he had hidden an old insurance policy in his filing cabinet under the P’s and asked if I’d call his wife. When I questioned why he didn’t call he shook his head, ‘I tried, but she won’t listen to me.’ After I agreed to call, he left. It seemed like such a little thing to do so I picked up the phone.” 

“A woman answered. It was his wife. When I told her what her husband said, she went into convulsions. Scared the stuffin’ out of me.” Doctor Mary took a deep breath. 

“Turned out, her husband died a month before. Isn’t that something? And he walked right into my living room. Usually when I talk to someone on the other side it’s through my thoughts.” She fanned herself with her hand. “The wife called me back after she found the insurance policy and thanked me, but she didn’t have to. It felt good to help and amazing to sit face to face with a ghost.” 

Uncle Bobby lit another cigarette and chuckled. He seemed so sure there wasn’t anything that happened after this life. But, I wasn’t. 

“Your kids want some of these rocket stickers I made up?” he asked. “I” meant the company he worked for. He was an inspector in the aerospace division of Rockwell International. 

“Sure.” My kids were way too old for stickers, but I liked that he asked and it made him feel good to share something memorable. 

“I sent some heavy duty folks into space.” Uncle Bobby rifled through a vanilla folder and carefully pulled out round stickers of the: Columbia, Challenger, Space Lab 3, and Discovery. 

“When I was a kid, my brothers read comic books that showed something like this on the covers,” I said as I pointed to the picture of the Challenger. We thought it was just fantasy back then.” 

“It’s a whole new world,” Uncle Bobby said. “Soon we’ll be living on other planets.” 

The next time I saw my uncle it was at The Little Company of Mary Hospital. He was unconscious. “Ju come, please,” my aunt had said earlier on the phone. 

I sat at the foot of his bed listening to the painful sounds of the rattle snake and flat tire as I watched his chest rise and fall. Aunt Gisela stood in the doorway her head bent in prayer. 

Suddenly, it was painfully quiet. Aunt Gisela gasped and ran for the nurse. I stared at my uncle wondering how it was possible to be alive one second and gone the next. 

Seconds later his nurse rushed in and checked for vital signs. But, it was only a formality. “God be with you,” the nurse sighed as she gently held her hand over his forehead.

I’d never been in a room when someone died before. Everything got real still. Seconds seemed like hours. I wanted to do something, but I couldn’t move. I sat perfectly still and watched my uncle’s lifeless body. 

Then I saw it. A thin electric blue light moved through his mouth and headed out the window. I blinked my eyes questioning this incredible vision. I was seeing Uncle Bobbie’s spirit leave his body. I was scared and excited all at the same time. Blue light was coming out of a man who didn’t believe anything happened after death. If I had any doubts before I sure didn’t have them now. 

Uncle Bobby had mentioned spaceships taking us to other planets. Now, he was headed into space without a ship and I had been given a gift I would never forget. 

I found Aunt Gisela in the hallway and wrapped her in my arms. 

“I try keep him here. I pray over and over. No good. No good,” her words came out in spurts. “Maybe I wrong. Maybe dare’s nobody, no nothing, no bridge. No way to help loved ones.” 

I held her tighter. “But there is something very powerful. Maybe everyone can’t see it, but it’s there. It’s a bridge of some kind. It’s blue and narrow and reaches into the sky.”

“For sure?” She said pulling away as she looked up at me. 

“For sure.” I answered lifting her chin. 

Aunt Gisela’s face softened; her eyes glowed with hope. Her prayers had been answered. The husband she loved so dearly was now on a new journey and one day she would be able to rejoin him. 

Judith Morton Fraser LMFT, past president of the San Fernando Valley (SFV) Chapter of CAMFT, Present organizer with Douglas Green LMFT for creative workshops, actor, writer, works with creative people in creative ways. Website: www.JudithMortonFraser.com.