RIP Uncle Dick
I don't even know what to say. I feel like I just went through this. I'm not sure it even completely hit me yet, that it even feels completely real yet. You just go through the motions, you know...go to the funeral parlor, give hugs, say hello to people you know and don't know. But it can't be real, can it? It can't really be my Uncle Dick, my dad's younger brother who was only 53 years old. It was just all so sudden. I know it sounds cliche, but I'll always remember him as being so full of life. He was always the life of the party. Every time we went over there, whether it be for some family event or just my military cousins home on leave, he always had some new mixed drink for me to try, like the Cosmo complete with the Cosmo glass. You just take it for granted that it would always be that way, that he would always be having these family parties at his house, at least until we were all really old. He was my Godfather; he was supposed to come to my engagement party, and my wedding, and lots of things after. I just don't know what to say, except that I'll miss him a lot.
The weirdest thing is being at his house in between wake sesssions, but without him there. There are ghosts and memories in every room. He should be behind the bar offering me a drink, or in the living room telling a story. After being to a couple of these this year, I've come to the conclusion that a wake or a funeral is like a big party (except not under the best circumstances, and with a lot more crying) with everyone you ever knew and cared about you there, except you're asleep through it. It feels like he should be there. I keep seeing images of him in my mind, his distinct walk, his distinct voice. He's unforgettable in every way, as shown by the many people who have paid they're respects.
I'll end on that note for now. I have to get up early for the funeral tomorrow morning. It's going to be a rough day.
The weirdest thing is being at his house in between wake sesssions, but without him there. There are ghosts and memories in every room. He should be behind the bar offering me a drink, or in the living room telling a story. After being to a couple of these this year, I've come to the conclusion that a wake or a funeral is like a big party (except not under the best circumstances, and with a lot more crying) with everyone you ever knew and cared about you there, except you're asleep through it. It feels like he should be there. I keep seeing images of him in my mind, his distinct walk, his distinct voice. He's unforgettable in every way, as shown by the many people who have paid they're respects.
I'll end on that note for now. I have to get up early for the funeral tomorrow morning. It's going to be a rough day.