Memories of the same man from different perspectives

My niece with My Favourite Husband. They adored each other.

My Favourite Husband (MFH) and my roommate, my niece. They were like peas in a pod. She adored her uncle and he said she was the kid we couldn’t conceive. No blood runs between them (she’s a niece from my lineage) but their bond couldn’t have been stronger. In fact, when MFH died, the person her father (my brother) ached the most for in telling the news was his daughter. He knew it would break her heart. It did. 

Her and I have always got along well but, if she had to choose one of us, there would be no hesitation in picking her uncle. And while she idolized him when she was younger, as she got older, their relationship changed. They interacted as adults with adult conversations:  automotives, racing, vacations, what they each wanted to be when they grew up. They discovered they each had flaws and imperfections that made them both shake their heads and appreciate each other. It was a bond that appeared unbreakable. 

Until it did. The day he died. Any little annoyance was swept away with the pain. Pain will do that sometimes — sweep away the rubble, the dust of hurt and anger, and leave behind clean and polished memories. Even the retelling of those memories focuses on the positive, the softness. 

Peace. 

We each have to find our way to peace when grief hits the heart and a tsunami of emotions washes over. Every memory is unearthed, swept into swirling pools. Moments that made sense do not any longer. Fragments, sharp jagged pieces. The memories of hurt and anger are amplified but so, too, are the ones with joy. And when it happened to me, I was left to pick my way through them all, find peace with them all and make sense of them all. 

As the years pass, I find myself recalling memories differently. I can look at experiences more objectively. Some may say I’m whitewashing them but I’m not. The benefit of time has given me clarity and grace. I’ve worked hard to release regret, anger and guilt. 

Holding on to them doesn’t allow me to move forward. 

Moving forward is important to not only me but the people I love.

Like my roommate. When we talk about MFH and her favorite uncle, I want to converse with memories that recall the laughter and fun. I’m not ignoring the anger, hurt or the life lessons, but I can speak about the experiences without holding onto the negative emotions. I want both of us to remember the man who brought goodness to our lives. As she asks curious questions about our lives together, I owe it to my past and present — him and I — to recall our life together in a way that is kind. Forgiving of faults. Loving. 

So no, it’s not whitewashing but recalling with love a time together where two imperfect people wrote a chapter in each other's lives.

She knows the marriage of her aunt and uncle wasn’t a fairytale. It certainly didn’t have a happily ever after. And she’s smart enough to know that some of the memories I’m sharing, while accurate, had a different palate of emotions as they were happening. But both her and I can appreciate that, in the end, all we have left are the memories we make. And the beauty is in remembering softer and with love.