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Dear Gabriel,
Hi there, it's your Uncle Robbie here.
Somehow, time has flown by and you're now 14.
Except we never had the chance to get to know each other, did we?
Time is so fleeting. So is life.
Oh, how are we related? Well, the short version is that I'm your uncle. Your sisters call me that, and likely a few other funny things. I suspect you would have also.
But I'm also your mom's uncle, and we're somewhat similar creatures.
I didn't know how to process your not being in our family when we lost you.
I was in Virginia when I got the news and it stunned me. I drove home with a feeling of emptiness and complete shock.
My mom -- your Granny -- and I decided that we wouldn't go to Alabama, where your parents were surrounded by other family members. We felt there would be a point where there were too many people.
Fourteen years later I look back and know we would be there now. I would have driven home from Virginia to New York, picked up Granny, and gone to Alabama to be with your parents. But, at the time, well, we decided differently.
That being said, we're all so close now that of course we'd be there. Time also makes you see things differently.
To that end, Granny, your second cousin Sean, and I would come visit your family right around your birthday, making sure to spend a night together with dinner and laughs to honor you.
We laugh in our family. We know you would have also.
Before you was Evelyn, your big sister. While we still mourn you, we celebrate your younger sisters, Eleanor and Isabel.
They would have both driven you crazy and adored you.
Sean and I love our visits every year. We feel comfortable when we're there. We play with the clowder of cats, eat the food we love, visit places we enjoy, and just have fun.
Oh, I always wonder about how different things would be though that is a fruitless operation.
But I'm fairly certain you would be a sports fan, arguing different things with me and your dad. Like your father, you'd no doubt be a Dallas Cowboys fan, much to my consternation. I think your dad would have been OK with me trying to drag you into Yankees Universe, and maybe begrudgingly liking my Pittsburgh Steelers. Or at least tolerating them.
I'm guessing you would have come on the air to do my radio show when I visited and we'd laugh over miniature golf and whatever else. I'd like to think you and Sean would have discussed games and so on.
Maybe you would have played football and you can bet your shoulder pads that I would have tried to broadcast one of your games.
I find your birthday sadder now than I did back in 2009. The shock has worn off.
In truth, we should be with your mom and dad and sisters tonight. We should be eating the recipe that Granny passed along for spaghetti and meatballs.
Or we should be out at a restaurant in Fayetteville.
With ice cream for all afterward.
I hope you're a guiding light for all of us, watching over your family along with our other departed loved ones. Your Granny and Pop are hopefully both nearby. So many others. Beloved pets as well.
I hope you let Roxy out and tell her to "go be a dog."
I hope you pet Bandit and Fred and Chico and the other furry friends.
I send you a hug as best as I can on this fourteenth birthday. I would have loved the times that we stood outside your house having a catch. Or maybe at one of the parks near your house.
Sean would no doubt be nearby, yelling at his "old man" to not ruin the shoulder and elbow that have both seen much better days but still can't resist zipping off a spiral or a fastball (speed being relative, of course).
I see your picture every time I'm in your family's house and I smile with a hint of sadness.
I have pictures here in Connecticut but I can't quite bring myself to look at them.
We mourn you. But we also celebrate you. For you existed, just all too briefly.
Time. It's often all we have.
Go be a kid wherever you are.
And keep an eye on all of us.
We miss you.
Love, Uncle
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