7 26 pm est
My uncle Mel died this weekend while I was visiting my brother; I was informed last night when
I returned. He was 70, and he had a heart attack while driving.
I was shocked, and sad. No body liked him. He was not
a kind man. He was married to (and divorced from) one of my aunts,
and he was in business with another aunt (the first aunt's step-sister).
He was cruel in the office. I called my aunt (his ex) to let
her know, in case no one else had told her. She said we should
drink chamagne. I told her that wasn't funny. In her
defense, she said that if anyone mourned at his funeral, they would be
being dishonest. I said that it stil wasn't funny. He's
dead. She never has to deal with him again. Why speak poorly
of him? The last time I saw him I was wishing him happy birthday.
I can't imagine anyone celebrating someone's death.
I am sad for Mel. I am sad that he died and so few will miss
him. I cried alone in my room last night. There is something
to me that feels so dishonest about living on without skipping a beat when
someone dies. Nothing changes. The routine of some people is
upset, but otherwise, the death is just an event just passes by, and that
is that. It feels so empty to me. It feels so empty because
I believe that when you die, that is the end -- no after life, no
reincarnation. You live on if you are remembered -- if you have
left a legacy alive. My grandmother is still alive in my thoughts,
and I share stories of her with others.
