My uncle Chuck died this week, it was unrelated to the tornado, he had cancer, one of the bad kinds apparently and was about a year into his diagnosis.
He was my Mom's youngest of seven brothers and sisters, and his mother, who made it to 80 and change died last year. I never asked and it isn't something that comes up but if I had to guess I would say chuck might have made it to 50 - it was close, give or take five years.
I will relay my favorite memory of Chuck I guess, since that is what people do once you die.
After I graduated from high school I went to junior college for two years and I moved into my grandmothers house for a semester. I was working as a janitor at wal-mart and living in a small room in the back of the house. It was a room that use to be a garage and had been converted into a small space that both Chuck and all of his several siblings over the years had lived in for a period of time after various divorces, marriages, addictions and other poverty inducing milestones.
College is no less an excuse but while I was there my uncle chuck was staying in the spare bedroom in the house. It was the only time that I actually spend more then a few hours with him. He was well liked by all of his family members and surprisingly he was also well liked by my fathers side of the family - and few people made that cut after my parents divorce.
I returned from work one night after a late shift. I laid down on the mattress, on the floor and started to watch a DVD - which was a pretty new thing at the time - i had been lucky enough to have found one after it had been hit by lightning then fixed it using a TV remote and a fuse I pulled out of my 1991 Pontiac Firebird.
I didn't know it at the time but Chuck was home and my grandmother was not -
My grandmother was staying in Georgia with her daughter for the week and Chuck thought it was necessary to kick in the door and swing a sword over his head to surprise me at one in the morning.
I was surprised.
Apparently he had made this sword and wanted to show it off, in doing so he reached back his sword to slice invisible enemies on the staircase as he charged towards me in a classic "Conan the Barbarian ," pose and accidentally stabbed a giant framed poster I had hung on the wall behind him.
That was my favorite memory of the guy - it was really funny, completely insane and somehow endearing because the expression on his face was that of complete cartoon anger - then shock - and complete humility as he apologized - all in a three second span.
Why a sword? Why he had no shirt at one in the morning and thought he should just kick the door in? Why he had no concept of the spatial relation between the wall and giant hunk of sharp metal he was tossing around his head? I don't know.
Anyway I will always think of that moment and know that the world is a worse place without you in it.
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