There was a time I would’ve blogged about a thing like this the moment after I heard about it. As it is now, I’ve been avoiding it…
My uncle Bob died on Thursday. It was sudden and completely unexpected.
Bob was a—to put it mildly—“character.” Anything I put in print about him won’t come across right, so I won’t tell my favorite stories about him. Some stories are just better in the verbal context, complete with Southern accent and Bob’s specific timing. I will say, by way of description, that he was the kind of guy that you rarely saw in anything other than a plaid shirt, often accented by a hunting vest. At the family Thanksgivings, Bob would usually bring an offering of venison from his past year’s hunt, and he more than once killed the turkey himself with a bow. He was funny when he wanted to be, but mostly quiet and often mistaken for grumpy. And also often accurately described as grumpy. And I’ll miss him. Thanksgiving won’t ever be the same again—and in a year where we were all talking about what we were going to do with Bob and Cornelia (Bob’s wife/my aunt) choosing to no longer host it, that’s even sadder than it would’ve been anyway. At least it is to me.
My brother and I are heading out of town for the funeral. It’s in Cape Girardeau, MO. (Cheap-shot at Rush Limbaugh suspended out of respect to the gravity of the situation.) Hopefully it won’t suck too much.
I’ll try to write something cheery later. Until then…keep fighting for your right to party. (Had to reference MCA somehow…and that was a tall order, since Bob was the exact opposite.)