living in sin.

I thought about devotion as I sat across the table from my great uncle's mistress.
I never met my great uncle. He was an artist and was the person who inspired my father to be an animator.

He has been dead for over thirty years.

And yet,
up until a few months ago she had a house full of his stuff. Paintings, vintage tin toys, furniture, all belongings of my late great uncle.

When she was introduced into the shrinking violet dynamic of my father's side of the family the result was odd. My grandparents don't exactly know how to respond to her. As Irish Catholics my grandparents passively believe that what my uncle and his mistress did could only be categorized as "living in sin"
Though my uncle was an alcoholic, a true tortured artist, she devoted her life to him. Or at least, the half of his life she was permitted to have.
This is the thing I appreciate the most about my father's modest family: This seventy-something year old elephant in the room, eating Christmas dinner with us. Conversation made with her by the rest of the awkward family was shy and unsure, not knowing if it is appropriate to befriend this black sheep.
I of course, always feeling similar, reached out a hand.
I looked at her and smiled. I asked her to tell me about Robbie, [I had only ever heard sad drunken tales]
She looked at me, and a smile flickered in her eyes.

"He was the best friend I'll ever have"

I raised my glass to her, and finished my wine in one gulp.