Gone
Sometimes the end truly is relief. My uncle died this morning at 9AM. Peacefully, just after going back to sleep, which is more than I could have hoped for the way things were going.
I spent most of today with his (new) family and his (only) two daughters from a previous marriage who I hadn’t seen since they were toddlers, thirty years ago at my mother’s funeral. (It’s blantantly obvious we’re related though, you can tell physically and character-wise. We’re a stubborn, blunt type of people.) The three of us were my uncle’s only blood relatives there.
I don’t really know his new family that well, having only met them two times over the last two years. It was awkward as nobody can remember who I am exactly, and I don’t know who they are either. Yet I am directly involved since my uncle wants to be buried in my mother’s grave, so I had to be present at the crazy, chaotic meeting with the fumbling undertaker.
I found out some of the other blood relatives hadn’t been informed yet, so I tried to get in touch with them in Paris, Copenhagen and Jakarta, to convey the bad news.
Everything is surreal and bizarre and somewhat infuriating. Blood is thicker than water, despite having little contact with my relatives, I feel, well, responsible, being the eldest blood relative present.
It’s also weird when people start telling me stories about my mother (‘my mum and your mum were really good friends’), which just makes me feel like I never really knew her.