“Have You Stayed Here Before?”

I walked up to the counter and the attractive young attendant countered my, “I have a reservation.” with “Have you stayed here before?”  I had.

Another time, another place, I might have thought that this was a pick up line, but I’m too old to be picked up.  The last time I stayed at the Chesterfield Hampton Inn was April 27, 2014.  I booked four rooms for my family.  We were there for my mother’s funeral.  This time I was checking in for my cousin, Gene’s.  Staying in this hotel is becoming an unwelcome habit.

I’ve delayed writing this blog because it’s tough.  I’m losing too many people I care about.  You expect to lose your parents one day, but when your peers start passing, you address your own mortality as well.  I’ve got things to do and continued stays at the Hampton Inn is not on the list.

I’ve written about Gene several times since beginning my blog.   He and his first wife, Sandy, shared thirty-nine years and raised two sons.  After Sandy passed, he was lucky to find Lauren to share his remaining years.

Speaking in public has been a part of my life for fifty years.  Most of the time I enjoy it.  As I’ve gotten older, I get emotional when I speak about things that I feel passionate about or people I love.

When the minister asked for those present to share memories of Gene at today’s service, I knew I couldn’t do it.  I have lots to say, lots to share, but not on this day.  Luckily, my youngest sister, Jackie, was able to speak.  Her words were simple, but heartfelt.  She, like everyone present, loved Gene and her words hit home for everyone.

Take a look.

Gene is my older cousin by ten years, and I felt like he was my brother from another mother.  He was probably the coolest guy I knew.  I never knew anyone other than Gene, and Fonzie, who kept their cigarettes rolled in the sleeve of their t-shirt.

He brought a cool girl to a family picnic and she had cool leather pants. When Sandy and Gene married, and had the boys, she wasn’t cool anymore.  She was a mother. He was still cool, but he had a huge heart.

He would help anyone. I remember this cool guy carrying his grandma Mac who had lost a leg. He helped our Grandpa Barner when he was grieving the loss of our grandmother.

Over the years, he has fixed my cars, roofed my garage, babysat my children, supported me, helped our parents, teased me and loved me. And I loved  him.  He loved his family and our extended family and we all loved him.

Gene could be bragadocious, but not intentionally, and in my opinion only about two things, his sons and grandsons. He was proud of all and shared that with me on many occasions.

This past St. Patrick’s Day I reminded Gene and Lauren of the first time I heard about Lauren.  It was probably twelve years ago on St. Patrick’s Day. I had called him to see what he was doing, and he said he was going out for corned beef and cabbage.

I said, “With who?” 

He said, “Lauren.” 

And of course I wanted to know who this Lauren was.

“It’s not a date.”

“Are you paying the bill?” 

” Yes.”

 “Then it’s a date, and she will think it’s a date.”

I made it a point to endear myself to Lauren, I wanted to know if this sweet girl was worthy of his love and was she going to love him?  She was, and she did. He was lucky to have two good women who loved him and they were lucky too.  We were all lucky.

I hope when I leave this world I find him, and the first place I’m going to look is with the cool kids.