My Uncle Joey died Monday afternoon.
He didn't have an easy life. He made alot of wrong choices that screwed him up royally.
But he was lovable and we wanted him.
His family ached to see him happy and clean.
He was given so many chances to start over.
To do the right thing.
He just couldn't let go of some things.
And when he tried to, there were some people who made sure the wrong things were available to him.
He was just starting over again. He had his own place, a pick-up truck, and a new welder.
He was a smart guy.
Kinda a punk.
Now he's gone.
At forty-one, ox strong.
Died alone without family there, and it breaks my heart.
It breaks my heart to think of all the things he could've done.
All the happiness he missed out on.
All the family missing him now.
It tears me up to think of how I would feel getting a phone call from the cops saying my little brother had died suddenly.
I'm not going to his funeral.
I want to remember what he looked like alive.
When I was sixteen, and he was grilling a steak for me like only he could.
Looking at me laughing because he could make his cat run into the side of house by shining the flashlight at it.
Full of strength and enjoying the dusky evening.
That's how I want to see him.
We'll miss you, dude.