Yesterday I received news from one of my cousins in France informing me that her father, my uncle had died the night before. He had been fighting an illness for a long time. His pain has ended finally.
We only brief periods of time together but over the years, I stayed in contact and felt a closeness to him because he and my father were like brothers and much of what I knew about my father came through him. (My father died a week before I was born).
I wish I could pour out some beautiful verses for him now but I can't. Perhaps it is still early, too soon. Maybe I'm in shock but don't realize it though I knew this day would come. Maybe it is because I've been wanting to visit him these last two years but couldn't. Maybe I was meant to not see him in a state of pain and remember him as I saw him last: Boyant at heart, funny and wise...
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