There's absolutely nothing amusing about this post. However, I seem to be unable to write anything else until I write this.
My uncle Herbie died yesterday.
He was sixty-seven years old. Which, I'm sorry, just isn't old enough.
He had triple bypass surgery last Wednesday. It seemed to go fine, but then shortly afterwards everything went to ratsh*t. The end result of which was him passing away yesterday morning.
It was a long, emotional, painful period. I don't have words to describe how badly the whole situation sucked. Just trust me, it really did. I feel so bad for my cousins Jennifer, Stephen and Andrew for losing their father. And for my own father, losing his brother. There were some moments that just broke my heart to see. I'm not going to trivialize them by relating them here, but they'll be with me forever.
During this period we had lots of talks. Some were serious, some were frivolous, some were sad, some were happy... but one I had with Steve in particular stuck with me. Although I don't recall his exact words, he made a comment on how when 'important' people die, the world takes notice. But when a decent man dies, a man who loved his family, treated people nicely, and lived a good life... nobody really takes notice. And it happens countless times a day, with countless decent people.
He's right. And it's probably another one of the reasons I'm writing this now.
Herbie was a good man. He was funny, and considerate, and compassionate. He had a heart of gold. He loved his family. When he lost his wife almost thirteen years ago, he lost of bit of himself. But he kept plugging.
And I have to say, I'm really going to miss him.