I miss my uncle

    My mother went to URI, where she played cymbals in the school band.  On her way to band practice at the beginning of her first semester, she met another young woman who twirled baton in the school band.  That woman’s name was Holly.  She and my mother became best friends, to the point where my brother and I called both her and her sister Auntie.
    Auntie Holly and Auntie Donna were super fun.  I got to sleep over at their house a few times.  They had a fluffy cat named Lacey, and the guest room was called The Disney Room.  It was, as you might guess, covered with Disney paraphernalia, most of it found on one of their annual trips to Disney World.  Most of the time when she came over, we went to the Disney store.  She was always down to talk about princesses, and always found the coolest gifts.  Her and her sister even accompanied us on our family vacation to Disney World when I was in fifth grade.
    Auntie Holly never had a boyfriend (or a girlfriend, for that matter).  She’d had some before (and was apparently not into girls), but she was single my entire life.  Until my mom’s 4th of July party after my junior year of high school.  She brought a guy with her, whom she’d been dating for a while (I think almost a year).  Since she had been single for so long, she wanted to wait to make sure it was *for real* before she told everyone.  I feel her, but I’m so impatient I would never be able to keep a secret like that for any length of time.
    Anyway.  This man’s name was John.  He had a nice smile, and a deeper voice than I expected from someone so skinny.  He seemed nervous, which was silly to me because nobody on that deck was intimidating in any way.
    My high school boyfriend and I were instantly won over, because he had a tattoo of the devil on his left arm.  He talked with us about music we liked and tattoos we wanted, and it was great.
    After that party, he came over every time my aunt came over.  I liked him more and more each time I saw him.  I’ve never been a super touchy person, and after I was sexually assaulted I was even less so, but I never minded a hug from him.  I made mistakes as a young adult, some of them pretty big, but he never made me feel like I was a bad person.
    He and my aunt got married six years ago.  They’d already moved in together, and their wedding was at their house.  They’d found a house with enough space for her father and sister to move with them (all three of them had lived together before).  I also learned that his oldest daughter was not his biological daughter, but he had adopted her when he married her mother.  He has something like seven or eight daughters (with several different ex-wives), and he has good relationships with all of them.
    About a year ago, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  My aunt waited to tell my mother, because it happened right after my grandmother got diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  He found it earlier than people usually find it, and thus he was given more time.  He decided to try some sort of off-the-books treatment which required him to do super fun things like get coffee enemas, and also required a trip to Mexico for surgery and a bizarre diet of basically nothing that tastes good.
    I think he expected it to be a magical, miracle cure, but it wasn’t.  He still felt like shit, and he still had to keep up with the diet and the coffee enemas.  (I’m sorry to harp on that, I just can’t imagine what that must be like.  It probably smells so good, and it’s a pity that such a delicious smell must have been associated with pain, or at the very least discomfort.)
    On Friday night, my Uncle John died.  The last time I saw him was my mom’s 4th of July party last year.  He didn’t come this year because he didn’t feel well, and every time my mom and brother went to visit him I was working.  I regret that the last thing I ever said to my uncle was that I was a pickle.  I was skipping out on the party to go to Cirque du Soleil with my then-boyfriend, but I also just plain hate my mom’s 4th of July party.  He still gave me a huge hug, though.  He still didn’t make me feel like a bad person for doing something different than my parents wanted.
    I feel sad for my aunt.  It took her a long time to find love, and she only had it for twelve years.  She built a life around a man who is now gone, and she has to figure out what pieces of that life she can afford to keep.
    I feel sad for my mom, who lost a good friend.
    I feel sad for Uncle John’s daughters.  He was undoubtedly a great dad.
    But mostly I feel sad for me.  I didn’t get to see him often, but I loved my Uncle John.  He was cool and funny and smart in a way that seemed so effortless.  His presence was so casual and comforting.
    I have never felt such unconditional love from anyone, let alone a man who didn’t have to love me at all.
    I miss my uncle, and it’s not fucking fair.  There are terrible people who do terrible things, and they live to be old and grey.  My uncle was great, and he was in pain for a year and died before fifty-five.