The Slide Begins

September 7, 2008 marked the beginning of a slide down a very slippery slope for me. It began with the death of the only person in the whole wide world who still called me “Margaret” every time he saw me. “That’s the name you were baptized with and I see no reason to change it,” he would say.

My cousin Tom…my dependable surrogate older brother as I grew up, has left us. We’ve lost other members of this Enright clan, this great Irish family of my mother’s. However, it was usually a tearing, sudden surprise of a removal -two uncles and one of the cousins in their forties. Or perhaps one of “the folks from West Bend” would die, those who were ancient great uncles and aunts at least to our young perceptions. But now…now it’s one of US!

How lucky we were that Uncle Muv bought the cottage on Cedar Lake. That big old rambling white clapboard cottage could sleep 21 we’d proudly proclaim. In a very organized rotation all of my cousins and aunts and uncles would descend on the cottage Sundays during the summer, ready to spend their week or two of vacation in the carefree world that bordered a green Wisconsin Lake. So, Bill and Tom, Pat, Mary Ann and Kay, Susan, Mary Beth and Abby (Dan came later!), Carol, John and Barbara Mary and their moms would take their turn keeping my mom and me company over the hot languid weeks. Oftentimes, our dads made the commute from Milwaukee, arriving on Friday night and ready to fish a little, do some chores, cut the grass (mowing the west 40, as my uncle Harold used to say!) and just relax with our families. The big screened porch that ran the length of the cottage formed a dining room on the side. We could watch the regattas on Sunday afternoon as we ate dinner. White wicker furniture with yellow pillows reflected the sunshine on the front porch, facing the lake. I remember how excited we were that we would be left with ‘the older kids’ to watch all of us younger ones as the grownups departed for Minnesota to see Uncle Muv marry Aunt Mary. We worried about Bill going into the Army. We fell off rafts, took unauthorized sailboat rides from our neighbors (the Tews family), walked down to the frog pond with “Aunt Carol,” my mom, every night, and whispered secrets to each other as we slept on the screened-in porches that formed two wings of the upstairs. It seemed Tom was always there.

When I was quite small, I remember Aunt Marie and Uncle Harold driving up to our flat on 58th street and inviting us to go along for a Sunday afternoon ride in the country. Grandma Vosburg (Marie’s mother) was often with us. Tom and I would be crammed into the car and would ride hilariously through the Wisconsin countryside, with my dad and Harold trading jokes and jibes at one another. “Fischer! You’ve gotten us stuck in a corn field AGAIN!” Harold would joyously point out. And we’d all laugh, and Grandma Vosberg would offer peanuts in the shell as a treat in the car. Tom was always there.

I would sit in the front parlor on 17th street and vicariously listen to Tom’s friends escapades. I was the little cousin in the background. “I’m going to join the convent,” I announced one night disgustedly, as I recounted my disastrous attempt at finding partners at the local CYO dances. “Oh for Pete’s sake,” said Tom, “I’ll get you a date with Doug Haig’s little brother Jerry.” “I’m not going out with any of your goofy friends,” I stubbornly proclaimed. Tom was always ready to help me.

Tom’s father was one of the early casualties of the Enright family. Dead in his forties of a heart attack, friends and relatives rallied around Marie, Bill, and Tom. Included in this group were Doug and Jerry Haig. I met my husband at Tom’s father’s funeral.

Jerry was in the Navy when I planned my wedding. Tom and Marie made Friday night Fishfries a tradition as they helped my mom, dad, and me with details such as who would serve the Mass and where the reception would be held. Tom was always there..

When the wedding day came and went, Jerry threw my garter to the waiting crowd of bachelors…and guess who reluctantly caught it! Of course, Tom was always there.
After berating Jerry for what I perceived to be his constant last minute arrival at events, we drove into St. Jude’s parking lot for Tom and Marian’s wedding, only to find that my folks were later than we were! I thought Tom looked mighty handsome in that tux.

As the years passed, we shared family and fun. Tom and Marian were our Tom’s godparents. We spent a hilarious and hard working weekend moving Brigid and our Barb into the dorms at UW-Eau Claire. My mother died that weekend. We were in Ashland, having gone onward to take Susie to Northland College. The funeral director, a good friend, assured me that Tom had taken care of all the immediate details. He called his Brigid and she ran over to find our Barb and insisted that she would accompany Barb home on the bus for the funeral. Brigid gave up her first days in college to be with us. We’ll never forget her for that. And Tom was there, in the background, making sure all went well.

It’s a slippery slope when you realize that all ‘the West Bend folks” are gone now. Tom pointed that out as we enjoyed a St Patrick’s Day party at his son Bern’s house a couple of years ago. We cousins were sitting in the living room, visiting, when Tom boomed out “Oh for God’s sake, take a look at us! WE are the aunts and uncles now!” A silence followed that observation. We ARE the older generation. The loss of one of these close cousins is a tentative step down that slope. Within hours, the five of us who live in Milwaukee had made contact with one another. Close in childhood, we are so lucky to be able to console each other in our older days. Tom is still with us, at least in that wonderful Irish spirit – and I think he’s gone to join that Irish clan in heaven, rejoicing that ‘the cousins’ are still close. Tom will always be in my heart and memory.