A 6am call is never "normal" and I knew something was wrong. My poor mama had to call and tell me that her brother, the patriarch of our family... my Uncle John was dying. Brain bleed. 911. Ambulance. Hospital. Aunt Jeanne. Can't go visit. Covid. Ventilator. I heard all of those words. None of them were sinking in. Too surreal. He was fine. Too heartbreaking, my Aunt just lost her sister TOO OVERWHELMING. I CAN'T GO BE WITH MY FAMILY. Then the call came that he was off of life support, and he died. My Uncle John, big burly Uncle Johnny... was gone. My Aunt Jeanne posted on Facebook. So I posted... then Auntie T... And then mom posted... and our hearts broke. Just broke. Every time we talk - we just can't make sense of it. I know in time.. it will sink in. He will not be there at the airport when I get home next trip. He won't be at Christmas or at the table eating sauce. He's gone. BUT I WILL REMEMBER. I will tell the stories and I will keep him ali...
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