Sunday, November 14, 2004

Dear Uncle Al,

I talked to my mom last night, and grandma today, and the general consensus seems to be that you won't be waking up from this sleep you've fallen into. I've been thinking about this since yesterday, searching through all of my personal nooks and crannies, and I can't find a single solid memory of you. And so I don't know how I'm supposed to feel.
You always seemed to be the family scapegrace, my mother's distant older half-brother who did shameful things. Everytime I find you in my head, it's always a conversation with grandma: "Allan dropped a tree branch on his head." "Allan's daughter is in trouble with the law." "Allan is getting another divorce." You were rarely seen during my memory-making years, although your children were around often.
Grandma sounded more worn out than I've ever heard her sound this morning. If I were to tell the awful truth, Uncle Al, it would be that I'm more concerned about how this will effect her than I am about you. Because I don't know you. But you're my uncle, my relative by blood, and there's only three of us in the world that can call you that. And I sincerely hope that you do wake up, for the sake of our family, so that my grandmother won't lose her oldest child and only son, and so that your children won't lose their father and their children their grandfather. Because you made your world, and you deserve to look at it for longer than this.
Good luck.


No comments: