A Most Talented Man (On Unexpected Loss)
My uncle, my mother's brother, was a man of many talents; a magician, musician, inventor, photographer, painter, ice cream maker, and a wonderful storyteller. He was the oldest of four siblings, five years older than my mother, and the only boy.
When he was twenty-two, his mother, my grandmother, died giving birth to their youngest sister. A year later, after a fatal diagnosis of brain cancer and an operation to give him a few more months, their father died as well.
My uncle, barely starting his adult life, took on the responsibility of caring for his family, including the care and raising of his newborn sister.
I enjoyed the company of my uncle. As mentioned, he was a wonderful storyteller, providing me a lot of background into our family's history. He had this semi-sinister laugh and a thin smirk which he often used when being mysterious or funny. This was particularly true when he performed magic for us, or later, when he would tell us about one of his patented inventions.
I was at work about a decade ago when my mother called and informed me he had had a heart attack while descending the steps of a courthouse. I left immediately and joined her and my brother at the hospital.
Apparently he had been in a coma, but woken up recently. He had lost the ability to speak, something the doctors said was common upon waking from a coma, and that it should return. Family member after family member entered his room, and tears welled up in his eyes, but eventually a smile formed when my brother and I walked in, giving us hope that he would be back to normal soon.
The following day I did not visit, though my mother and brother did. Apparently my uncle had begun to speak, though his memory was somewhat foggy. By all accounts he was getting better, with the quick recovery of speech being a very good sign.
That night I received a phone call. My cousin, my uncle's only child, informed me that my uncle had died from internal bleeding that the doctors had somehow missed. He asked that I let our family know what had occurred, saying he was too emotional to be able to effectively do so.
These were the hardest calls I have ever made. My aunt, the middle sister, already wary of a phone call so late at night, upon hearing the news that confirmed her fear let out a wale of pain so full of pain and terror that can never be accurately described.
During the funeral three sisters sat in the front pew along with their uncle, their father's brother, an old and feeble man blind in one eye and barely able to walk. He held them in his arms, tears on his cheek, repeating softly to no one in particular that "It should have been me."
After the services the church began to clear, it was then my aunt turned to me and said "His death, it's like being orphaned all over again."
I realized then that death of this kind, abrupt and unexpected, forcibly tears at one's emotions, clawing the soul and leaving in its wake a most painful scar that will never fully heal.
When he was twenty-two, his mother, my grandmother, died giving birth to their youngest sister. A year later, after a fatal diagnosis of brain cancer and an operation to give him a few more months, their father died as well.My uncle, barely starting his adult life, took on the responsibility of caring for his family, including the care and raising of his newborn sister.
I enjoyed the company of my uncle. As mentioned, he was a wonderful storyteller, providing me a lot of background into our family's history. He had this semi-sinister laugh and a thin smirk which he often used when being mysterious or funny. This was particularly true when he performed magic for us, or later, when he would tell us about one of his patented inventions.
I was at work about a decade ago when my mother called and informed me he had had a heart attack while descending the steps of a courthouse. I left immediately and joined her and my brother at the hospital.
Apparently he had been in a coma, but woken up recently. He had lost the ability to speak, something the doctors said was common upon waking from a coma, and that it should return. Family member after family member entered his room, and tears welled up in his eyes, but eventually a smile formed when my brother and I walked in, giving us hope that he would be back to normal soon.
The following day I did not visit, though my mother and brother did. Apparently my uncle had begun to speak, though his memory was somewhat foggy. By all accounts he was getting better, with the quick recovery of speech being a very good sign.
That night I received a phone call. My cousin, my uncle's only child, informed me that my uncle had died from internal bleeding that the doctors had somehow missed. He asked that I let our family know what had occurred, saying he was too emotional to be able to effectively do so.These were the hardest calls I have ever made. My aunt, the middle sister, already wary of a phone call so late at night, upon hearing the news that confirmed her fear let out a wale of pain so full of pain and terror that can never be accurately described.
During the funeral three sisters sat in the front pew along with their uncle, their father's brother, an old and feeble man blind in one eye and barely able to walk. He held them in his arms, tears on his cheek, repeating softly to no one in particular that "It should have been me."
After the services the church began to clear, it was then my aunt turned to me and said "His death, it's like being orphaned all over again."
I realized then that death of this kind, abrupt and unexpected, forcibly tears at one's emotions, clawing the soul and leaving in its wake a most painful scar that will never fully heal.
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