One of my crazy uncles died. He apparently had a heart attack in his apartment alone 10 days ago. That’s all of the story that was passed on to us from the person my mother refers to as “my brother’s son” — the only one of the numerous children claiming to be his offspring that he actually claimed and gave his name to, though most of the family thinks he’s probably the one kid who isn’t. My mother says she is sad but not destroyed over the news and not surprised.
Her brother had a lot of bad habits that led to very bad health. The only time I’ve seen him in two decades was at my grandmother’s funeral and then he weighed so much that he couldn’t walk and had to use one of those scooters. He had diabetes, was a cancer survivor due to smoking, but was chain smoking on his oxygen tank just like his old man had, he was going through a sober period but he was definitely making up for it with food. He was also still trying to figure out how to make a million dollars doing nothing — this is the uncle who went to prison for some sort of Bible Scam that no one will talk about.
It had been my choice since college that he not have my contact information. So, I will say that I’m a little sad at his passing, but I’m no where near devastated. Mostly I’m sad that he wasn’t the brother my mother deserved and I’m relieved that he’s one less person my mother has to care for and worry about now, because he’s been calling her regularly asking for money for bills or to invest in some new scheme. And she considered making him move closer to her so she could keep an eye on him and you know that she’s a caretaker and it’s all she seems to get to do — first with my great grandmother, then her mother, now Dad’s mother.
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