My cousin Bill was almost exactly one week younger than I. His dad was my 
mom's brother. Here are three generations -- Grandpa Moe (Aunt Carole's dad), Grandpa Voda (Bill's and my grandpa) and my Uncle Em, Bill's dad, holding Baby Billy. There exists a picture of Billy, at about that same age, together with me -- standing buck naked in an inner tube. Apparently our moms thought it was a good thing for us to sunbathe. Whenever Bill and I would see one another we'd say, "I've seen you naked."
Bill's family lived in Minnesota. When Bill and I were eight-going-on-nine, they moved to Southern California, to a house just a few blocks from ours. I had no memory of the cousin I had known as a baby and was so excited when they arrived. There was Jimmy, Bill's older brother, a year or so older than we were. Then Billy. Then little Tommy, who must have been about six. And Jeannie, their tiny sister. I still remember my first sight of her, all ruffles and tiny patent leather shoes with straps. Bill and I had the whole summer to ride bikes and play in the orchards and the alleys by our homes. We were to start school in the fall at St. Catherine's, fourth grade. I remember the day we went with our moms to get our uniforms, which Bill and I insisted on calling "costumes". Corduroy pants and white shirt for the boys
, maroon jumper and white blouse for the girls. Maroon sweater for everyone.
We went to the same high school too. During our young adult years we saw quite a bit of each other. Bill sort of hung around during the time I was going through an unpleasant divorce. He helped out -- never had to ask him, he'd just jump in and do what needed doing. And the thing about Bill -- he was so darned nice. Once up at my Mom's, we were saying uncomplimentary things about my former husband. Bill eventually said his piece: "He made good chili."
I moved away in the early 70s, and Bill and I saw each other at family gatherings. One of those, one of the saddest, was Jim's funeral. Jim died tragically, and the family was devastated. I have a vivid memory of Bill standing by Jim's coffin, saying, "You left some big shoes to fill, but I'll do my best." He wasn't crying, but his mouth was trembling. The loss of his big brother -- so awful. Bill was tenderhearted and loving, especially to his family.
Bill died last week -- a heart attack. He'd never been sick, didn't miss work. It makes sense to know that he was helping friends repair their roof, nailing a tarp up. When the hammering stopped they called to him and when there was no answer they climbed up to find him dead. It is some comfort, I suppose, to know that he was spared a lingering illness. When my brother Chip heard how Bill had died in the act of helping a friend, he said, "Like father, like son." Uncle Em was a man of great generosity and his sons carry on the tradition.
Tuesday was the commemorative mass for Bill. Tom, whose sad duty it has been to speak at the funeral mass for his mom and his dad, spoke of his big brother:
He was always holding in his emotions, and I never saw him cry in my life. When my parents passed away, we both remained true to form with me crying a lot, and him not crying at all in front of us. I know he hurt as much or more than I did, being around them more than I. He made a collage of photos of both my parents which he hung in his room, and brought flowers to my mom's gravesite on her birthday. That was Bill's way of showing his feelings.
He was an unpretentious person. What you saw was what you got. He was a genuine person, not a phony one. He never cared about things like exotic cars, designer clothes, or fancy restaurants. He was happy driving a GM car, wearing Levis and a tee shirts (with a sometimes unprintable message on it) and eating a Tommy's hog dog and fries.
A man once said that a person shouldn't try to be one of a million, but rather one in a million. That we shouldn't try to fit in with the crowd, but be unique and true to ourselves. Bill was a one in a million unique person. He did things his way.
...Bill died of a heart attack. But I prefer to think that he died because he had too big a he
art. We love you, Bill. You will be missed.
I loved him very much. He was my cousin, my blood. We shared childhood and young adulthood. When we'd see each other at family gatherings during the past few years, we'd always talk about how he would come up to see me in Washington. He didn't get around to it, and I didn't get around to calling him to set a firm date. It seemed like there was time. But there wasn't.
Goodbye, Billy.
