through this process of blogging and self-reflecting, i have stopped making assumptions about the day of harv’s accident [aka my birthday] and i finally sat down and did the math [one of my absolute least favorite things to do.]

this has lead to a profoundly personal realization … i have no doubt this “story” will surprise some of the people who know me best.

let’s play ball.

first up, the statistics:

• harv was born on november 7, 1951
• i born on june 13, 1984
  [harv was 32 years old]
• the accident was june 13, 1987
  [harv was 35 years old]
• harv passed on december 21, 2016
  [he was 65 years old]

• 

• 

it’s worth noting in these times of social distancing when we’ve all been complaining about staying put for a couple of weeks. my uncle harvey was essentially forced into a limited world for 29 years. he barely left his property for the final 14.

the insurance companies placed a bet on him to live 10 years.

maybe.

how do we know this you might ask?

my brother-in-law, j, [who’s married to q and together known as quosh] texted me that harv always considered it lucky [birdword] how he opted to take his settlement. the insurance company offered him a large lump sum over 10 years or less $ annually — and monthly — but for the rest of his life. he took the latter. he bet on himself when the game was on the line and he always liked to say “i got those bastards.”

i remember this differently. i always thought harv took a lesser settlement because we were poor, didn’t have insurance and he needed to cover his hospital bills immediately. [clearly i didn’t know how any of this worked.] turns out, it was the opposite. it had nothing to do with the timing and everything to do with guessing how long he would live. [it’s funny what the mind remembers and how we shape our truth.]

the statistics i remembered of the accident were challenged when it was my turn at bat during my uncle harvey’s memorial service on december 27, 2016. i had a couple of stories to share before swinging for the fences and playing the video I created to commemorate his life.

for a quick change-up go watch the video here.
it’s only a few minutes.
please.
if you’re already reading this,
i promise you won’t regret it.

anyway, i have a strange comfort in front of large groups that does not exist in one-on-one situations. i stepped right up to the plate and introduced myself as the reason harv has been in a wheelchair. i knew that everyone in that room knew of me [the niece who’s birthday took away her uncle’s ability to walk] but many had likely never seen or met me.

but here’s the curveball …

when i said the accident happened on my third birthday, my mom piped up from the crowd to correct me about how old i was. [like i said, it’s funny what the mind remembers.]

i believe my brother-in-law j corrected my mom. he reinforced that, no, in fact, the accident took place in 1987 and robin would have been 3.

[quick hitter … when was i born? and how old am i?]

the interruption bothered me; i questioned my memory and everything i knew about that day [once more, it’s strange what the mind chooses to remember] but i quickly moved on with telling the story about how my uncle harvey is the reason there are bleachers in the student section of camp randall stadium – the home of the wisconsin badgers in madison, wi. [oh, it’s a great story.]

i played the video. [last nudge to watch]

i made jimbo [brother number 4] cry.

i sat back down and called my contribution to the day of celebrating harv’s life a success.

---

second up, the personal realization:

for as long as i’ve been playing this game, the age of 36 has loomed large in my mind. this is the age my mom was when she had me. her third bouncing baby girl.

when i was in high school, i distinctly remember telling my parents that i would die before i was 35.

i’ll let that settle in.

high school robin was class president, varsity basketball and by ALL measurements hitting home runs, and yet, i convinced myself there was nothing worth living for past the age of 35.

enough to say it out loud.
multiple times.
to my parents.

here’s the thing, i always thought i said this because having kids “was the end of my mom’s life.” or my parents life. or whatever. i don’t remember the context in which i said it. all i know is that it became an excuse. for example, the reason i didn’t need to stand up straight was because it wouldn’t matter … i’d be dead by 35.

turns out, my mind tricked me. [strike one]

turns out, i was scared to grow up. [strike two]

turns out, instead of being vulnerable, i made jokes about it. [strike three]

and finally, it turns out, my uncle harvey was 35 when he was hit by a drunk driver. [grand slam!]

that can not be an accident. [pun intended.]

one thing my mind knows for certain now …
in this game of life whoever / whatever i’m up against,
i’m better on myself and i will “get those bastards”

i turn 36 in less than two weeks. wish me luck. game on.

strike three, look at these smiles: