The Blessing of Unity

When my Uncle Floyd passed in 2020, I received the chance to make new memories with my brother. We spent more time together than we had since he drove me to graduate school in 1978.

Due to Covid-19, my brother and I were the only family members at the funeral. Aside from a model train set, we were also the only heirs. As we went through Uncle Floyd’s possessions, we shared memories, perspectives, and generosity.

My brother identified my grandfather’s sacred M&M dish. (My grandfather never shared.) My brother admitted he snuck them. “The clank of that lid was loud,” he said. Law-abiding Mollie was shocked.

We laughed over an 18-inch Santa in a sealed box. “I guess one night Uncle Floyd turned on QVC and thought, ‘Perhaps I should order that Santa,’” my brother said.

I treasured our unity. He took the Santa. I took the M&Ms dish. He transported my choices that I couldn’t take on the plane—cast-iron skillets, handmade quilts, and my Aunt Margie’s 1928 toddler’s chair. We agreed on items to give to give non-heirs. We didn’t argue over anything.