My mom just informed me that my Great Uncle died. it's such a weird concept. he's the youngest of 10. a family of mormons. my grandpa's baby brother. he drank himself to death. i remember when me and my cousin Lindsay used to stay at my grandparents place, where he stayed at periods as well, and we'd chase him around, and lock him on the deck, and he come in another door and scare the shit out of us. He always seemed perfectly healthy and normal, when in fact it was the complete opposite, he had agoraphobia, and he took comfort to various drugs and drinking. His liver began to give out on him a couple of weeks ago, I suppose we didn't think very much of it because he's always pulled through before, stopped drinking long enough for his body to temporarily recover... But not this time. He's gone now. Death is kind of a weird concept in this case, like when my great-grandmother died in january, it was a very different sceanario because she was nearly 95 years old. It was sad, but we knew she had been suffering for many many years, probably around 15, when her husband died. But this feels different, he always seemed so alive around us, we could push the fact that he was mentally ill and an alcoholic out of our heads, he was fun to be around. I remember one of the last times I saw him he was standing on the roof of a moterhome in the campground, me and Lindsay thought it would be funny to throw pinecones at him (we didn't though, due to horrible aim) He was terrified of the whole millennium thing, he bought us a lantern for christmas that year, and for my aunts and uncles he bought big fleece blankets. He tried so hard to be a part of our family at times, to make up for the one he never had I suppose...I guess this means we'll be going to a funrel in Claresholm this week. Something to look forward to I'm sure...
I hope he's happy now.