my uncle died over thanksgiving. He was my favorite uncle when I was young; he was big and loud and had the softest beard in the world. I remember when I was about 6, I loved to climb into his lap and snuggle up and play with his beard. He told me that I'd make a good wife someday because I was so loving. At 6, my response was probably just to shrug and asked him for ice cream.
When people pass, we are not normally sad for them, but rather for those left behind. I find myself in both positions this time, though. Sad for us--who lost a brother, father, son, uncle--but sad for him as well. Somewhere along the line, he'd given up, and wasn't able to choose to live as he wanted. I am a strong believer that you accept people for who they are, and you love them in full knowledge of even the things that frustrate you about them. His choices often frustrated me, and everyone who loved him. The man he was when he died, the life he was living, was not what any of us would've chosen for him. Was not what he would've chosen for himself if his mind had been clearer. I know he was waiting to pass on, and I'm hoping he's happier now than he was on earth. And I'm choosing to remember the fun, booming, larger-than-life presence of his younger days.
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