My uncle passed away this morning. He lived on the other side of the country and I didn't really know him very well ... not personally, that is. I have had glimpses of him in the tales my father tells about their childhood and through the news I hear from my aunt and dad. My uncle was unwell and even as part of a very large family, it was mainly my aunt and dad who kept in touch with him. He and my aunt spoke on the phone several times a day; they were both pretty much housebound and shared their mutual love of hockey. A poignant relationship formed later in life. A gift to one another.
How hard it must be to live to the point in your life when you start losing your siblings. My brother and sisters hold my history and if the day comes that I lose one of them, pieces of me will go with them. A life shared: secrets, mischief, adventures, triumphs, tribulations, firsts, milestones, who we were ...
So tonight I am holding my father in my heart and sending him loving thoughts. I think of my aunt who is missing her evening call to her brother. Life is forever changed for them. And change is inevitable - for all of us.
It is sad when the holders of shared memories die. I started writing down memories, and have sent the ensuing stories to my cousins in New Zealand, in order to carry on this thread of family in a different way.
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