The Salins brothers didn’t know from calling ahead. Sunday afternoons, when there was nothing else to do, they’d jump into their cars and drive around the beltway, dropping in on one another. You never knew when Eph, or Joe, likely not Calvin, who was probably still sleeping, or Charlie, who was at the track, or Mark or Jerry, who sadly had passed away too soon. Maybe not Sid, who was out selling cars or cheering on the Redskins, but otherwise, on any given weekend, if the weather was right, you’d hear a knock at the door and open it to find Joe, or Donny, or Ephraim standing there.

They’d bring food from Katz’, they’d knock together sandwiches, they’d loudly discuss some issue of the day, the war in Vietnam, gas prices, how in the heck it was that a peanut farmer from Georgia was in the White House, and how none of it mattered, really, because, God-forbid, we were all going to die one day anyway.

Sid, Mark, Calvin, Charlie, Jerry, and now Ephraim. All gone. Only Joe (90) and Donny (86) are left to circle the beltway. (And their little sisters, Gladys and Lilly, of course, but the women always had the decency to call first. Or invite you over. You’d never find an aunt at the door, only an uncle.)

My uncle Ephraim passed away last Saturday. He was diagnosed with a brain tumor after driving the wrong way on the highway last New Year’s Eve. With characteristic self-acceptance and grace, he declined treatment, and instead opted to live out his numbered days surrounded by his kids, grand kids, large extended family, numerous colleagues and friends, and his two beloved dogs, Arlo and Benji.

One of the last times I saw Eph, on Jan 30th at Uncle Joe’s 90th birthday celebration, (where Eph emceed the day, telling stories and jokes about their quirky and impoverished upbringing in the produce biz) he greeted me at the door with a hearty, “I love you so much!” No “Hello,” no “Hi, it’s nice to see you,” just that: A great big statement of unconditional love. (Uncle Joe, too, greeted me this way). What good men the Salins brothers are and were. What good story tellers, great senses of humor they possessed, what quick minds.

I loved my Uncle Eph. He was funny and smart. When I was little, he’d speak to me in silly voices. He always made me feel valid, and welcomed and loved. To quote the songwriter, Richard Shindell, “He was always faithful, he was always kind, and he walked off with this heart of mine.”

I’ll miss you, Uncle Eph.

You never know why it is that people come into your life. Sometimes it takes years, to see what pattern the threads weave into. Many years ago, I’d walk my little girl to school, get her situated in her first grade classroom. Once, upon leaving, I was asked by another teacher if I had a minute to come in and help out with her kids, all special-needs. Could I maybe do a few math problems with them just until the morning bell rang? I was a stay-at-home mom. The dishes in the sink could wait. So I said, “Sure.”

Nearly 10 years later, I ran into that teacher in the Marshall’s parking lot. “How are you,” she asked? I’d just started my massage practice and so I told her about it and she asked for a business card. Now, how many people actually hang on to a business card? But she did. And she shared it with her ex-daughter-in-law who called me and became a regular client.

A year ago life got complicated for both me and my client.  She found a new husband and was kick-starting her new life. I was walking away from my marriage of 25 years and settling in, living solo, plus visitation, in an apartment miles away from the neighborhood.

Over Christmas she texted, “Can I come in for a massage? Today?” I was in no shape emotionally to see a client, even a good one. Besides, I was feeling a bit shy about having her come to the apartment vs. my beautiful studio in the old house. I said no.

This week, she texted again. “Can I come in for a massage? This week?” It’s been a minute. I’m more grounded. I’m more confident. I’m growing more comfortable with sharing my vulnerabilities. I said yes.

Had I not been married to a wonderful provider, disconnected emotionally has we may have been, I’d not been a stay-at-home mom. I’d not been able to walk my daughter into first grade. I’d not met the kind teacher across the hall. I’d not met my client.

After her massage today, we chatted a bit about where our lives are and the amazing pathways that have gotten us here. She asked if we could pray together. I said yes.

She took my hands into hers and she asked the heavenly father (her image, but I’m being open…I don’t quite know what my Higher Power looks like, though I doubt he’s a dude) for strength and guidance and love for me as I walk this journey into the unknown. As I learn to love myself and to accept what is possible. As I begin to believe that I am favored and I am blessed.

It’s not easy. But I’m willing to try. Each day I listen for the strength simply to put one foot in front of the other. Each day it’s as hard as it was the day before. But on those hard, hard days, I might just meet someone who will offer a thread, become part of my tapestry. And along the way, I will know myself. She is good. She is kind. She is important.

[Blog title used without permission by Dar Williams. Though I think she won’t mind].