Journalled on Tuesday, 12 September 2023 | Flamengo, Rio de Janeiro: 30 degrees, hot and sunny.
My Uncle Mick, Part 1. It’s boiling, a real heat wave for winter in Rio.
Temperatures are almost reaching 40°C, which is completely crazy for this time of year.
Yesterday, I mentioned my Uncle Mick, who is my godfather. He is not a blood relative, but long ago, he was my father’s best friend. When I was born, he became my godfather, and because of this, I have many fond memories of visiting him at his large house in Amblecote, Stourbridge, in the West Midlands.
We also went on family trips. I regularly visited him because we lived close by, about 3 or 4 kilometres away, and I enjoyed walking from an early age, so it was nothing for me.
My uncle was married three times. The first time was when he was very young, with a complicated woman who bankrupted him. He had to live in a car for a while after his divorce, but eventually recovered and bought a large house to restore.
After that experience, he never wanted to marry again. However, like many people who don’t learn from their mistakes, he married again, this time to an exceptional person.
Years later, he met an angel, a woman who lived 200 kilometres away from him in London. They would meet once or twice a month, either in London or where he lived in the West Midlands. This lady was a very special woman who made him very happy. Instead of distancing him from his family and friends, she brought everybody together, including my father, brother and me. She was indeed a fantastic person with a great sense of altruism.
A kind, special and amazing human being!
My father was invited to participate in many of their trips in England and abroad. I think this helped my father immensely, especially when he was going through the separation and divorce from my mother.
My Uncle Mick dated her while they lived far apart for six years, travelling between London and Birmingham every week or two weeks to see each other. Eventually, they married and lived together in my uncle’s house near us.
Sadly, two years after they got married, she was diagnosed with cancer and passed away. She was bedridden for two to three months as she was terminal and frail. Despite going to the hospital, she wanted to stay and have her final days at home. I would visit from school once or twice a week with a flower to put by the side of her bed until she passed away.
My uncle was devastated, almost suicidal. It took him two years to regain some normality. He somehow shut himself off from the world and everybody as he needed space and time to grieve.
Then, he met his third and last wife. She was the complete opposite of the second.
While the second wife was friendly, kind, generous, and selfless, a lovely lady for my uncle and everybody she had contact with. My uncle’s third wife was utterly antisocial, selfish, rude and complicated. A real b#tch!!!
I remember, when I was still relatively young, before I went to live in London, that my uncle was already living with this woman. Whenever my uncle left the room, she would say terrible things to me, mentally torturing me so that I wouldn’t come to visit or have contact with my him.
This was when I was around 14 or 15 years old. Her toxicity caused everyone to distance themselves from my uncle. She would fight or poison anyone who had any friendship, love, or intimacy with him. This affected me, my friends, my father, and our family.
I later went to London and began my professional life, involving boats and such. For some time, I lost contact with him.
I remember once visiting my uncle at the new house he had bought, which was smaller than the one I remember from my childhood. At that time, I was already living in Brazil and was back in England for business and to visit family. It was great to see him after a couple of years, and we were very happy to be together.
During one of my visits, I found him gardening in the back garden. We were talking when, for no apparent reason, his wife, who was not very friendly, appeared. Within a minute, my uncle became irritated with her, and they began to quarrel in front of me, revealing how different their chemistry was from his second wife’s.
It became clear that he didn’t love her but needed a female figure to look after him.
My uncle met this woman when he was in his mid-to-late 50s, so maybe it seemed necessary for him to have someone to look after him. Like any relationship, they had a code between them, but it wasn’t healthy and couldn’t be compared to what he had in his second marriage.
To me, it’s illogical to enter into a relationship, get married, and live with someone who makes you nervous, irritated and angry in a very short period. It is difficult to see love, compassion, and understanding in such a relationship. It was evident to me that he did not love her. Maybe he liked and respected her, but as he grew older, he needed her, and despite her failings, she was his companion.
Is he being selfish in such a situation? It’s possible, but I see this in many elderly men. They need a woman to look after them in their old age.
Maybe “look after” is the wrong word; perhaps “companionship” for an old man. But he may also be used to having a female companion to care for him, for example, if he were married for 20-plus years. It’s difficult to imagine him spending the rest of his life alone. He needs another woman to continue, whether a good woman or a bad one is another question.
However, for a woman, it seems to be the opposite. As she gets older, she becomes more independent, content, and happier being alone. She does not feel incomplete without a man. This was evident in my uncle’s relationship with his third wife. It seemed more like a matter of convenience than anything else.
I also saw many similar examples at my school, where older men seemed to need a woman. Still, older women who had become widows or were divorced did not want a man in their lives again, at least not in the form of marriage or serious commitment. They might be open to dating, discomplicated sex, etc., while maintaining separate residences, and certainly not to marry or live together.
It became difficult to visit my uncle under such circumstances. Every time I went there, the atmosphere was heavy, uncomfortable and stressful, with tension in the air; an argument could erupt at any moment.
While in Brazil, I would regularly call my uncle. I spent a small fortune on calls, but it was always good to talk to him. My uncle wasn’t very tech-savvy; he didn’t have email or WhatsApp, so I had to call him on his landline.
He was always kind and affectionate with me, and I loved him dearly. Since my father was absent most of my life, my uncle was always present, a second father, someone I could lean on if there were problems. He was a perfect godfather, true to his word.
My uncle’s third wife passed away about five years ago, and he died about three years later. This is the first part of the story about my uncle. Read the next part to understand how complicated people can be.
I taught classes, went to Copacabana to buy silicone for the bracelets, and met an old flame for coffee. Everything is going smoothly.
In bed by 9 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
