I told this story a couple of times at the wake today and decided to share it here as well.

I don’t remember the first time I saw my Uncle Joe, but I sure remember the last time.

Three weeks ago I spent a week in Chicago for work. Mason asked to ride along and ended up spending the majority of the week at Joe’s house. After my meeting ended, my plan was to spend Friday night at Uncle Joe’s and hit the road home Saturday morning around 5am.

On the way to Joe’s Friday evening, I found the way to his house blocked by a tree that had fallen across the road. There was no way to drive around it. I had to back the car up, drive around the block, and get to Joe’s from the opposite direction.

When I arrived Uncle Joe insisted I have a drink, followed by another. By 10pm we had downed several Rum and Cokes, and by midnight we had switched from “Rum and Cokes” to “Rum and Rums”. We talked about lots of things the two of us had never talked about before, from stories about his childhood to stories about his dad (my grandpa, who died when I was just a little kid).

During a lull in the conversation I said to him, “You know, I’ve had people go to great lengths to keep me out of their home, but nobody ever went through the trouble of blocking the road to their house with a tree before.” Joe gave me a puzzled look and asked me what I was talking about. “The tree, outside your house, in the road,” I said. Apparently the tree had fallen between the time Joe had got home and the time I had arrived. He knew nothing about it.

“Let’s go see,” he said, picking up his drink and heading toward the front door. I picked up mine and followed him out the front door to the porch. Joe’s porch is elevated, a good six or seven feet above ground level. At the front of Joe’s porch is “the rail.” Anyone who’s been there has leaned on the rail and had a conversation with someone else there. When Joe and I got to the rail we saw four Chicago cop cars with their spotlights focused on where the tree had been. The tree was gone, but plenty of large branches and debris remained.

With our “Rum and Rums” in hand, Joe yelled out the following advice to the police officers working below: “You missed a spot.” He also helpfully pointed at the dozens of branches that remained in the road.

One of the cops looked up at us. “We’ve got it under control, sir. You can go back inside now.”

“I think I’d rather stand outside here and watch you work,” Joe said back, and that’s exactly what we did. Leaning against the rail with drinks in hand, we stood outside for five or ten minutes, watching uniformed police officers pick up branches big and small and occasionally offering our advice. One volunteer firefighter joked and shouted back, “I’ll have what he’s having!” Had he climbed the stairs up to the porch I’m absolutely positive Joe would have fixed him a drink, too. We weren’t out their too long, five or ten minutes maybe. Long enough for me to think there was a chance that the two of us might end up in jail for harassing cops.

Eventually the cops left and Joe and I went back inside. I went to bed around 1:30 in the morning. Four hours later, somewhere between hungover and still buzzed, I woke Mason up and the two of us grabbed our bags. Aunt Deb was already up and had brewed some coffee. I graciously slogged down a mug full before saying bye to Joe who was sleeping on the couch.

That was the last time I saw my Uncle Joe alive.