9:39 p.m. - 2004-05-17
Lost in Pennsylvania
My soul has missed it's tea time. Why is it that people we love always die so unexpectedly? Uncle Squarefoot died this past Saturday morning of a heartattack. I hate trying to find the words to say to my family to tell them how much he meant to me. I stumble and bumble like some sort of Frankenstein's monster. Urrrrgh.
This is what I never had the chance to say to you.
Uncle Squarefoot, I love you more than there are drops of water in the sea. When I was alone, with half my family amputated, you found me and with the surprise of watching a magician turn tinfoil into Hershey's kisses, revealed their love for me. I'm here now, sitting at your computer, Aunt Blueeyes is talking to another person calling with their condolences behind me. They've been calling all day, did you know how many people you affected? Upstairs, Grandpa is talking with Aunt Beebee and your son, my Soultwin, is falling down with exhaustion. But we're here together now. As Soultwin would say, we're in a frenzy of family love, and he's got someone here to be on his team.
I should've come last summer when everyone asked, and now I can't remember what was more important than thanking the man who reintroduced me to my home, my family, my beginings. Please forgive me for coming too late.
The past week or two, I've been watching Love Actually nonstop. I love the idea that "love is, actually, all around us." We only focus on the tortures of romantic love, but what about parents and friends and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and small fuzzy dogs named after Happy Days characters? I won't mourn losing someone else who I never told I love you enough to. Uncle Squarefoot, that is my vow to you.
M--if you're reading this, please know that when I emailed you I had hoped to give you a mental hug while remaining anonymous. I didn't want to force myself into your consciousness with all the subtlety of a spangled drama queen atop a pink elephant. Which, it appears, I have.
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