Dearg

My Uncle died. He was a great uncle by marriage.

He married the youngest daughter and last child of my great grandmother.

He stood up at my grandmother’s funeral, my uncle’s funeral and my mother’s funeral.

He solely delivered the eulogies for my family members.

He was a very charismatic man. Always a wink a nod and a hug.

Very vibrant man. Stories of him buzzing around the city on rollerblades into his 70s.

He was 89.

5 children. I don’t know how many grand children or greats.

I lost touch with all of them over the years.

I do not regret having lost touch, though there has always been a small remaining fondness in my heart for him and his family.

He seemed the sort that was evergreen, ever young.

My mother’s brother called to tell me.

I could hear the hurt in his voice as he told me.

It is all moving so fast.

Twenty six years ago, this now dead uncle, I remember him sitting next to me on the front stoop of my grandmothers house after she died, while guests mingled inside.

He was weepy.

“Gosh you are tough dahlin. No tears.”

I was on Prozac at that time. Had been on for two years or so. I don’t think I could cry.