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My Uncle Les was buried on Monday 3rd December at 10.30am. I wasn't there. I didn't want to be. That's not
how I wanted to say my goodbyes. He was in his 90's, had married and lost the
love of his life had seen his son go to university and become a professor. He
had fought in wars and seen the world change beyond belief in his life time. He
had spent is life helping and saving people from themselves and others. He made
an impact on so many.
I don't do well with tears; I am not that good at emotional turmoil. I
have been affectionately called the emotional cyborg. I hurt and feel but I
deal in my own way. I am not sure how to deal with this. This time I have
cried. I have cried unexpectedly, tidal waves of grief washing over me. I have
cried until my throat was sore and my eyes red and bulging (scary stuff!). I
have cried in my sleep and now I think I am cried out. I think I am ok but the sight of a little old man on the
street is nearly enough to undo me. I am not angry and I am not in denial,
There is no use bargaining and my sadness isn't a depression. I think I have
accepted his loss on earth. For the last few years I have been scared to see
him. Scared to see a different man, a frailer man who no longer recognised me
but had started to recognise the dementia in himself. The thought of his
mortality scared me as silly as it seems sometimes you just think people will
be around for ever. They won't be.
I have spent my time remembering him. The little things like his laugh, His
crisply ironed and matching jacket and trousers or his old school calligraphy
style handwriting. The excitement at seeing a card from him in the post.
Knowing that inside my birthday card would be a crisp £5 note, a tradition that
has gone on for decades and knowing that out of all my siblings I had the
longest run (22 years). Small things but things that mean a lot to me. My kids will never
get to meet him but that small tradition will live on and all because of him
even if they think me a tight wad for only putting a fiver in lol.I draw
comfort from the fact that he will be missed and that we at least will remember
him.
The good don't always die young,
sometimes they live and are taken before you get a chance to say goodbye.
R.I.P
Uncle Les
xoxo
Don't forget to come find me and
