Originally posted March 19, 2006
A year ago today my uncle lost his battle with lung cancer. I spent time with him when I could during that year, but wish that I had come home a little more often. I was 2 hours from his house, on my way down from Virginia when he passed. I knew the moment it happened and looked up at the sky and saw a hole appear in the clouds letting gentle rays of light shine down. It was a peaceful moment.
It was not until days or maybe even weeks later that I fully realized what I had lost. This person who had been such a part of of my life — though often in the background — left a silence that is still hard to deal with. I know the drill of loss — it’s ebb over time, the guilt you feel when a day first goes by without thinking of them, how it sometimes catches you off guard when you realize they are no longer around — but it doesn’t make it less painful to know what to expect.
So today, instead of moping or lamenting to the heavens, I will think of him as I cook (he was always up to taste one of my culinary experiments), toast him with a drink just a little too early in the day (because it’s five o’clock somewhere, as he always used to say), and I will enjoy what I can see of him in myself and know that I am a better person for having had him in my life.