My Uncle Dennis

I will never forget the day my Uncle Dennis died. He had been sick for weeks and just died of exhaustion. My family is small, so I had to take the responsibility to tend to his final affairs. The air was heavy with grief and after his burial, I knew I had to start tending to his unfinished affairs.

I drove over to his house, a place he had lived since the 1960s. His mail was pouring out of his mailbox and I had to get a garbage bag to hold it all. I dragged the bag inside and looked around his house. It was still hard for me to believe he was gone. He was larger than life with a beatnik air about him. He was known for enjoying his ale and hemp rolls.

I went to his bedroom and there were his shoes neatly placed beside the bed, ready to be worn again. I could feel emotion well up inside me as I went from room to room . His favorite coffee mug was sitting on the counter in the kitchen with mold growing inside. His illness came upon him quickly, so he was unable to clean up before the ambulance carried him away that cold day in October. There were a few dishes in the sink, which I washed as I stood crying for his absence. I finished up that chore and a chill ran up my spine. I could feel him in the rooms as I rummaged through his belongings.

As I went from room to room, I saw a narrow door between the second bedroom and the dining room. I had never noticed that door before, so I was intrigued to see what kind of room it was. I opened the old wooden slatted door with a worn doorknob. There was a light switch to the left and I quickly flipped it. There were several steps leading up to what I realized was an attic.

I carefully walked up the rickety stairs, feeling some apprehension. It was cold and a little daunting. I topped the staircase and I saw a few pieces of old furniture and a few boxes stacked in a corner. I walked over to the boxes and opened the lid to the first one. It was full of old photo albums of my family, past and present. I could have gotten lost in that box for hours, but I had so much more to assess. I pulled a second box off the stack, looked inside and it was full of old copies of Reader’s Digests. I put that aside and pulled out a third box. I opened it and it was full of books and old diaries. I picked up the journal on top, black and worn. I could see several of these little black books in that box.

I opened the one in my hands and the spine cracked. He had written a myriad of things in this journal from recipes to full blown entries of random thoughts. In the back of the notebook was a Kraft colored envelope. The glue on the parcel was so old, it was no longer sealed. I turned it over and saw no writing on it. What I found inside absolutely flabbergasted me. There was old money inside. Not just any kind of currency but old thousand dollar bills. I carefully pulled them completely out of the envelope and they were in pristine condition. I counted them gently. In my hands were twenty one thousand dollar bills. I could not believe my find. My Uncle had, for whatever reasons, stashed $20,000 in a black Moleskine journal.

I paused and collected myself. Once I recovered from the initial shock, I looked up to heaven and spoke to my Uncle, “You scamp! You lived in frugality and had this wealth hidden in a journal. You Uncle Dennis are my hero!”