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maderrI'm not quite certain what to say.
My Uncle Karl died late last night. He and his wife were out at dinner, had a good night, and pretty much right after they got home he fell, got up...fell again. They got him to the hospital but it was too late.
I did not know him terribly well, but he was the Uncle on that side of the family who deigned to notice us Derr kids. My mom said he loved us, and that when she told him about my writing he never doubted for a moment I would succeed. Just a few months ago I saw him up in Michigan, and he looked happy and healthy and whole. We had a lot of fun that day, despite the fact we got home dead tired.
Never lost a family member before, and I mean I'm not close to any of my relatives so it doesn't hurt as much as it would a lot of people who are more tightly knit, but still it gets to me. The main reason is my Uncle's death -- even though this means this is the second brother my mother's lost, still her family cannot overcome their pettiness and childishness to be nice to one another. Everyone still holds it against my mother for telling mother off about another bit of family history.
It's one reason, I think, my parents raised my sibs and I to care so much about one another. We're more spread out now than we used to be, but keep in touch.
And I mean, we have our spats and fights and no doubt want to kill one another upon rare occasion, but I would never stop talking to them and certainly when one of us DIES some stupid petty argument is not going to keep me from grieving with them. Fuck that shit. I forget where I read it, years and years ago, but what I read essentially said that family should stick together because no one else will ever understand what it's like to know your parents as parents, and no one else will know what it's like to know your siblings as siblings. We're the only ones in this relationship, and that should count for something.
That doesn't seem to occur to my mother's family, or my dads, so I had to listen to my mother fucking cry over her little brother so suddenly being gone immediately followed by the fact she didn't feel like she could turn to her own fucking siblings for comfort and understanding. I hate it. I hate it so much. A thousand times a day I thank my parents for raising me the way they did, and I dissolve into tears all the time because somehow I can't help them. My parents deserve a lot, and life gives them practically nothing but misery. I mean, it's not all bad, but they deserve far better than what they get.
But this crap -- my Uncle is dead, I'll never get to see him again like I'd considered, because he said I was more than welcome to visit and he was only about five hours away -- and my mother is upset and her family can't even seem to remember that they ARE all family and that family should be there for each other.
Rest in peace, Uncle Karl. Didn't see you much, or know you as well I probably could have, but my memories of you were ultimately fond.
My Uncle Karl died late last night. He and his wife were out at dinner, had a good night, and pretty much right after they got home he fell, got up...fell again. They got him to the hospital but it was too late.
I did not know him terribly well, but he was the Uncle on that side of the family who deigned to notice us Derr kids. My mom said he loved us, and that when she told him about my writing he never doubted for a moment I would succeed. Just a few months ago I saw him up in Michigan, and he looked happy and healthy and whole. We had a lot of fun that day, despite the fact we got home dead tired.
Never lost a family member before, and I mean I'm not close to any of my relatives so it doesn't hurt as much as it would a lot of people who are more tightly knit, but still it gets to me. The main reason is my Uncle's death -- even though this means this is the second brother my mother's lost, still her family cannot overcome their pettiness and childishness to be nice to one another. Everyone still holds it against my mother for telling mother off about another bit of family history.
It's one reason, I think, my parents raised my sibs and I to care so much about one another. We're more spread out now than we used to be, but keep in touch.
And I mean, we have our spats and fights and no doubt want to kill one another upon rare occasion, but I would never stop talking to them and certainly when one of us DIES some stupid petty argument is not going to keep me from grieving with them. Fuck that shit. I forget where I read it, years and years ago, but what I read essentially said that family should stick together because no one else will ever understand what it's like to know your parents as parents, and no one else will know what it's like to know your siblings as siblings. We're the only ones in this relationship, and that should count for something.
That doesn't seem to occur to my mother's family, or my dads, so I had to listen to my mother fucking cry over her little brother so suddenly being gone immediately followed by the fact she didn't feel like she could turn to her own fucking siblings for comfort and understanding. I hate it. I hate it so much. A thousand times a day I thank my parents for raising me the way they did, and I dissolve into tears all the time because somehow I can't help them. My parents deserve a lot, and life gives them practically nothing but misery. I mean, it's not all bad, but they deserve far better than what they get.
But this crap -- my Uncle is dead, I'll never get to see him again like I'd considered, because he said I was more than welcome to visit and he was only about five hours away -- and my mother is upset and her family can't even seem to remember that they ARE all family and that family should be there for each other.
Rest in peace, Uncle Karl. Didn't see you much, or know you as well I probably could have, but my memories of you were ultimately fond.
