In my office I have a picture of my dad and his siblings. Yesterday I was looking at it closely, straightening it on the wall, thinking about how good everyone looked 10 years ago.
At 10:00 last nite I started to have one of those what-is-the-meaning-of-life-and-death panic attacks, you know? I mean, maybe it was prompted by American Idol. But I said, "What a cruel existence we have, we're given all these abilities and emotions and connections and then you die and it all disappears. That sucks!" And Salty D. said, "Yup. Game over." Salty.
Then at 1:00 this morning I got a call from family in Minnesota that my my dad's brother, the one who was baring his bright dentures and wearing a typically crazy hat in the photograph, had died.
The worst part is that my nutty uncle, who has been sick for a long time but is the most stubborn human I have ever met, died alone a few days ago. His body was discovered in his apartment in North Philly and friends had to break through a window to get to him.
I wish I was more in tune with those subtle hints that something ain't right, that you get from feelings you're having about someone, like when you're looking at a photo, and then act on those feelings. Instead of being totally clueless. Maybe he would have been discovered a little earlier, IF I WERE A MEDIUM?!?
Anyway I can't contact my parents who are on vacation somewhere in Georgia. They're staying at one of those Christian Retreat places, because they're with a group of seniors - and this freakin' place doesn't have a 24-hour-a-day receptionist. And it's almost 4 am and I know that my mom is wide awake now because apparently when you become senior you can't sleep for longer than 4 hours at a time which is a total kick in the pants because sleep is so good - but I can't get hold of 'em because, also my parents don't believe in carrying cel phones. Cheese-n-crackers.
I know that the relatives are thinking about how my uncle didn't want any services and he had requested cremation, and that they would just get it over with and then go to his apartment and get what little stuff he has out of there. But I'm thinking that his ashes need to go somewhere, right? Say a few words?
And, ew, what I've researched now is "Unattended Death Cleanup" biohazard services. Which we have to arrange. Ugh. That, my friends, is my uncle's ultimate "fuck you" - a phrase he threw around - and that's not even close to the worst things he ever said. I have no idea if he ever meant to be cruelly crude or if he was just trying to shock people. But, since I was his only niece, he didn't insult me. He was very thoughtful in his sentiments (sending me a huge bouquet of roses when I graduated from college) if not always appropriate (i.e. asking me about my "boobies" - and calling D. an asshole after we got engaged.)
Anyway, he wanted to die alone and he did. He lived very simply and consumed very little and I always respected that. He was a tiny man who danced up a storm at my wedding 10 years ago and was the life of the party in his cowboy boots, before he lost part of his feet. I'd like to believe he is now one of those caring but mischievous angels who plays tricks on the others, just like he did on earth. So that the game wouldn't be over.
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