Uncle Timmy, R.I.P.

My mom phoned last night to tell me that her oldest brother, my Uncle Timmy, died yesterday. Uncle Tim wasn't named "Timothy". He was named "Francis J." after his father. The "Timmy" came in because he was, as a youngster, quite small. Tiny Tim.

He was a widower for almost my entire life. His wife, Aunt Kay, died when I was little. That left Uncle Tim and his daughter Kathleen. She was nicknamed by the Schneider contingent "Teeny Weeny Katha-leeny." In a family of ton-of-fun aunties, she was a waif. And so they did what a large, loving German/Irish family did to show its love: they teased.

I got acquainted with Uncle Timmy and Kathleen several years ago when I attended my cousin's funeral. They had a lovely father-daughter relationship. He still lived alone well into his 80s, but he needed looking after. Kathy was devoted and she and her husband made it so that Uncle Tim could live in his own house.

He was a carpenter. He loved his wife. He loved his daughter. He was a funny, sweet soul.

I bet my dad is showing him around his new place.